The Children of ARES
by SnowyFox417
Summary: Four young men who've spent their lives walking the line between good and evil. Four pasts filled with tragedy. Four broken souls on their way to redemption. One final path to decide their fates. Will they make the right choice? (Rated M for Blood, Language and Dark Themes) (UPDATE: Combined the two parts of "A for Anthony into one chapter)
1. Prologue

What is a hero?

If you asked the common person this question and they bothered to give you a good response, chances are that you would get the same answer. When a life is in danger, a hero will always rise up to save it. When innocent people are threatened by an evil threat, a hero is the one who stands between it and them in order to protect them. A hero's blades are always shining with honor, integrity and good judgment as they do battle with their nemeses. A hero's hands are always white when they grace the children, men and women. Even the birthplaces of a hero is untainted, the extent of their origins carrying not so much as a blemish.

The optimist and those stricken with naivety would embrace this view of a hero with open arms and a cup of warm cocoa. But the realist and pessimist would see it as a false and exaggerated statement.

In a fairy tale, tall tale or other stories of the sort, the above belief would be one-hundred percent true. But in reality, where souls collided and mixed with one another, it would have truth in only half of the world. In the other half, heroes aren't that perfect. They can come from places of criminal occupation, times of hardship, and people who know nothing but how to sin. Those sins can spread, on accident or purpose, to those heroes and infect the expected white sheet. They may save a life, but won't do it for the sake of saving that life. They may protect the weak, but never for the purpose of protecting the weak. They would rather do it for their own personal gain, with the actions of a hero being nothing more than a side effect. In fact, if they had a chance to do the same things that the villain did, they would most likely perform those actions with little to no hesitation.

* * *

_Through the sands of a cactus-filled desert, two bandits are riding horseback. They are parallel with one another and separated by train tracks. The sun is beating on their backs, and the horses are experiencing signs of exhaustion due to constant running. The tooting sounds of a train's horn can be distantly heard coming from behind them, with the train itself coming within view. The train closes the distance between it and the horseback riders, thanks to the obvious speed advantage. But as it moves closer and closer to their location, they draw out their respective weapons. One wields two revolver pistols in each hand, while the other carries a revolver rifle. They each carry gleams of anticipation within their eyes as they look at each other, sending a nonverbal message to one another._

Some may be motivated by greed and selfishness. They seek nothing but money, fame and power and will do whatever it takes to ensure that they either have it or maintain it.

* * *

_In the presence of a fierce storm, a slaughter is taking place. A lone blade flashes through the sheets of rainfall that pour across the land, cutting hapless gunmen to nothing but pieces. The young man wielding the blade is walking at a casual place as he faces dozens of enemy blades. They fall upon him relentlessly with the intent to kill. But the cutting edges always fall short of their target before they, along with their wielders, are torn apart by his own. Their blood stains his face and his clothing, while the constant rainfall drenches his entire body. Yet throughout it all, he carries a smile on his face. It is not a smirk of arrogance, a grin of triumph or even a beam of sadism. No, as he is slaying the countless enemies that attack him, his smile is warm and almost pleasant – something out of place with the wasteland he is leaving behind._

Some are motivated by pathology. They are taught the ways of the sinner from the moment they are born or at a very young age, coming to believe that nothing is wrong with what they do. These ways are carried straight into adulthood and can often leave behind a monster who has fully molded itself in atrocity.

* * *

_Inside of a train car, a boy and a girl are running. The girl carries a katana within a cleaver-sized sheath, and the boy possesses a red-bladed katana with a rifle for a sheath. They both have their own looks of seriousness and determination as they rush towards an unknown location. But as they are nearing the destination, they hastily stop themselves at the sight of a lone figure walking out from the shadows. In his hands, he brandishes two rust-colored machetes in a threatening manner. He stands with a tall and intimidating gait, a smile as malicious as the intentions running within his head._

Some are fueled by heavy emotion carried by a troubled past. The perpetrators are long gone and cannot be made to answer whatever crimes they committed against the victim. So the victim unleashes its grief, sorrow and anger on others, even if the targets have nothing to do with whatever tragedy that transpired.

* * *

_A village is burning to the ground. Houses are enveloped within massive groups of fire, collapsing and disintegrating into ash. Bodies of the villagers are lying, mutilated by both the roaring flames and wounds. The presence of the fire is so great that an orange light dominates the sky overhead. Within the center of it all is a lone young man who is sitting on his knees, crying and sobbing in his hands. His constant wailing is the only sound that dominates the crackle of the world as it burns around him._

Others do it simply because they have no choice. Thanks to powers beyond their reach, their freedom of choice is stripped away. They only move by will of a master, and their actions are meant to feed the hunger of both that master and his audience. It matters not what the victim thinks. It matters not whether the victim objects to what it is doing. They may have a heart of gold, only to have it buried under the irredeemable acts they perform against their own will.

* * *

It is easy to mistake all of these kinds of individuals as automatic villains. But that too is nothing more than an opinionated view. As long as there is a speck of light within the darkness, some positive quality that counterbalances the negative, there is always a chance of them becoming just like the heroes of fantasy. The tale told here will be about four children that, despite being tainted by their history and flaws, undergo a journey that will bring them to terms with this very fact. They will not only meet new faces and identities, but face hardships and many obstacles as they progress along this journey. It will be up to them as to how they will resolve the problems they face, both in themselves as well as each other.

Come, my listeners.

Here comes the tale of the children of Ares.


	2. A for Anthony

In the dead of night, there was nothing on the road but a lone cruiser motorcycle. Its steady growl was the only sound cutting through what would've been a chronic silence. The custom colors of silver and black made it a moving shadow in the darkness. Fluorescent street lights and the light of neon signs paved the way to it and its rider's destination.

The biker let out a shuddering breath as a wave of cold sent chills down his spine. Against it, he wore nothing but a gray business suit and black dress shoes. A helmet covered his head, revealing nothing but a dark brown ponytail that escaped from the back and was now whipping in the wind. Behind the visor, one blue eye and one green eye regarded their field of view with annoyance. "Late at night, frosty as hell and I'm only wearing this pencil-pusher suit-and-tie get-up." He grumbled. "The things I do for money."

The man's name was Anthony Riggs, and he was a mercenary. Right now, he was headed to Schnee Manor, home to the very owners of the renowned Dust company. It was courtesy of an individually anonymous letter requesting his presence. It provided no specifics of the mission, promised a high sum of pay and was practically begging for attention. Anyone with a more wary heart would've certainly been more quick to reject the request out of uncertainty for what might have been in store. But how was one expected to know the unknown without taking risks and chances? He certainly was no coward, and the pay stated on the letter was generous enough to catch his eye.

Briefly, he took one hand off of the handlebars to retrieve his phone from his pocket. Raising it to eye-level, he worked his way to his GPS map. From what it was showing him, it was only a handful of blocks until he reached the manor where he would meet up with a contact. He slipped it into his pocket, exhaling a slow breath. "Out of all the things they offer, you'd think that some directions wouldn't be too much to ask for." He muttered. His eyes glanced to his right, scanning for the correct place. "All right, where are you?"

There was a red light he had to stop at. He slowed down, gently lifting his feet off the pedals. As he came to a complete stop, he planted his feet on the ground and looked around with slight incredulity. He knew it was nearing midnight and most people would be asleep at this hour. But he at least expected a few cars alongside him, a few people hanging out on the sidewalks. Was this just a coincidental period of silence within the city? Had something happened, making him an oblivious soul? He had no clue, but all of it was beginning to unnerve him a little.

He looked to the traffic light.

It hadn't changed.

"You've got to be kidding me." He growled, his hands gripping the handlebars tightly. "No one on the road and there just so happens to be a very long red light in my way." He lifted his feet off of the road, moving to place them back on the pedals. "Screw the police, I've got a job waiting for me and it's not gonna wait for—"

What stopped his action and his sentence was the sound of another motorcycle engine coming up from behind him. His ears twitched, his body turning so that his eyes could look at the source of the noise. What he saw was a yellow and black bike, sleek in appearance and speaking volumes in terms of style. The vibrant shape and color provoked an impressed whistle from him, his previous agitation slipping away from him.

"Now that sounds like someone who likes what he sees."

And then, there was the rider.

Anthony's eyes lifted their gaze from the machine to the woman on it. Like him, she wore a helmet. But hers wasn't the type that completely obscured the head like his, only covering the head. For the eyes, she wore yellow-tinted goggles that covered them up completely. As an extension, it kept much of her expression from being read by him. But because of the mischievous grin on her face, he figured out that he really didn't need to. In terms of clothing, she bore a brown jacket with short, puffy cuffs, an orange scarf around the neck, black shorts covered by what appeared to be a pleated skirt, and boots. All of it gave off the aura of the classic rebel, and although it wasn't over the top, it held a subtle sort of visual appeal. Judging from her comment and the broad grin on her face, all of it was intended.

"Hey, stranger!" She greeted, allowing her own feet to touch the road and straightening up from her position on the bike. "Loving the suit. You going out for a party?"

It was enough to pull himself out of his thoughts, an amused smile forming underneath the helmet. Even if she couldn't see his face, she would catch the humor in his words. "At this point? I really wish I was. No, this is for a much more serious meeting, ma'am."

"Mhm?" The blonde nodded, clearly interested and wanting to hear more. But he would give her a dismissive wave of his hand.

"Confidential stuff. You wouldn't get it." He could tell that much from her appearance alone. If anyone was going to a party, it had to be this dame. The clothes, the motorcycle, and even her tone of voice made it perfectly clear that she was just some chick looking for a good time. Idly, he wondered if her dialogue was a subtle attempt at hitting on him. He couldn't blame her for it, though. His awesomeness spoke for itself.

He pushed back a chuckle as he saw the girl's face contort into a slightly annoyed pout. "Are you calling me stupid?" She asked.

"No, I'm just saying you wouldn't understand." Although he was trying to be polite, there was a stealthy bit of sarcasm in his words.

"So in other words, you're calling me dumb." The girl said dryly, causing an angry tick to form on his helmet.

"Calling someone dumb and telling them that they don't get something are two different things!"

"I'm pretty sure they're not."

"And I'm pretty sure I'm about to hit-"

"-that? Hey, we've just met, okay? I'm not that kinda girl."

A silence followed with Anthony staring at the girl and the girl staring back with a cheeky grin. She probably would've been more amused if she saw one of his eyes twitching in a constant and irregular manner. It had to be a mouthy one to deal with, and in the middle of the night nonetheless! He swiveled his head to the red light, hoping that it had changed and he could go on his merry way.

It was still red.

He couldn't stop the groan that escaped him, hanging his head. "Come on! I'm trying to be a law-abiding citizen for once, and something has to try and tick me off. If this thing doesn't change in the next minute, I'm running this red light like a nose!"

"A...nose?" The questioning statement made him swivel his head direction back to the female, who was clearly trying her best not to snicker at the below-par pun.

"Shut up. You're part of the damn problem I'm having right now."

The girl raised an eyebrow. "Me?"

"Did I stutter, Blondie?" Anthony went on to point an accusing finger at the so-called culprit. "I am stuck in front of a red light with no other vehicle on the road, wondering whether or not I'm gonna get pile-driven by cops should I choose to run it. At the same time, I'm dealing with this party-girl version of Goldilocks that-"

"It's Yang."

He stopped himself when she cut him off, taken off guard by her choice of words. "...what?"

The girl let the lack of an intelligent response slip by. The cheeky grin on her face had been switched for a mirthful smile of greeting. "My name. It's Yang. Probably should've said that earlier, but I didn't know red lights could last so long. What's yours?"

Just like that, his agitation was washed away. He almost found himself at a loss for words, but the response was automatic. "Anthony." He mumbled, averting his gaze away from her in the sudden mood shift. "Anthony Riggs."

The proclaimed Yang giggled and cocked an eyebrow. "Even your name sounds stiff. Your parents must've known what they were in for."

"Oh, you're a real comedian, Goldilocks." Anthony scoffed. Although he was still somewhat irritated, he could see the humor presented in her words. It occurred to him that she wasn't aiming to pester him more so than attempting to converse. "I bet you're going to cause a real riot over at wherever you're off to."

He wouldn't get to see it. But her eyes would sparkle with not only amusement, but deviousness that could only stem from a troublemaker. "Oh, you have no idea." She purred, turning her head to look at the traffic light. "No idea whatsoever..."

It turned green.

"Well!" With her grin gaining a more satisfactory tone, she turned her head back to Anthony. "It's been nice talking with you, Anthony. Maybe we can hook up again sometime. Y'know, when we're not busy." She lifted her feet off the ground and placed them on the pedals. "Good luck!" With a step on the gas, she and her motorcycle was off into the night.

Anthony watched her leave, regarding her with a cocked eyebrow. It was a rather short exchange, no doubt. But he could feel the imprint left on the mind, small as it was. She was most likely someone that he'd never see again. He could even assume that by the end of the week, they'd find her in a dumpster with the clothes off her body. But then again, that was only assumption talking. Maybe he would see her again when he least expected it. But he doubted it.

After she disappeared completely, he closed his eyes and let out a slow exhale. He pressed his own feet against the pedals of his motorcycle and pushed on the gas, guiding it to the appointed destination. "That girl certainly is a piece of work, ain't she?"

* * *

After the encounter, it didn't take Anthony long to reach Schnee Manor. When he parked his bike in front of the building, he was greeted by a butler. After an introductory exchange of words, the butler led the mercenary inside. They would pass by several areas of aristocratic taste, including paintings of ancient times, sculptures of prehistoric individuals and architecture of the classical type. All of it spoke volumes of how wealthy the Schnee family was and just how much of a cut he was going to get from this job's success. Anthony was grinning like an idiot inside, but kept a collected aura around himself as he took it in. Squealing like a school-girl over possible profit was certainly not something that would keep his professional look in check.

A long trek would bring them to the doors of the big boss himself. It was here that the butler stopped, turning to face Anthony and giving a polite bow. "Best of luck, Mr. Riggs. You might want to take off your helmet when in the presence of Mr. Schnee." He turned and walked off, unaware of Anthony's befuddled gaze.

"Not going to announce my presence to your master?" He muttered under his breath, looking to the door. "I thought that was your job." Nevertheless, he grasped the handle and twisted it to push the door open. He would find himself in the confines of a small office – something that seemed underwhelming in comparison to the rest of the mansion. With a drawer desk near the back of the room, bookshelves at both side walls and a carpet covering the center, it had almost a homely look to it rather than the visage of some extremely rich person. For Anthony, it was somewhat enjoyable to look at compared to the rest of the mansion.

He walked inside, shutting the door behind him and eying the man at the desk. Like Anthony, he wore a suit-and-tie attire with a white-and-red color scheme fitting for the Dust company. His complexion spoke volumes about his age, what with the white of his beard and neatly combed hair. His icy blue eyes, which were currently locked in a slightly stern stare in Anthony's direction, had slight bags underneath them as well as some blackness. It was a clear hint that indicated restlessness and a considerable deal of stress. This caught Anthony's eye as he approached, and he raised a curious eyebrow. Did the man have "beauty sleep" policies that he was violating by having this meeting?

Shoving down the quip about it that had formed in his throat, he approached with as much of a polite and humble gait as he could muster.

"Mr. Schnee."

Then, he reached up to grasp the sides of his helmet and slide it off his head. Schnee would see the face of a young man who looked like he should be still in school rather than the business of a mercenary. His long, dark brown hair was tied in a loose ponytail that hung down the back. Similarly, side bangs hung down both sides of his face. All of his hair style had a rather scruffy look what with small "tails" of it sticking out at scattered points. But although he looked like a rebellious youth in disguise, the professional look in his eyes and the way he addressed the older man showed his expertise in the field. Nevertheless, it did not change anything about Schnee's overall composure.

"Sit." He commanded, motioning to one of the seats in front of his desk. Anthony obliged, moving over to sit in one chair while resting his helmet in another. "Now, I am sure you're wondering just why exactly I've called you here, correct?"

"No, I'm pretty sure you made that clear in the letter." Anthony said, folding his hands over a knee as he shifted one leg over the other. "A big mission, plenty of cash to be paid with once it's complete. But if you're referring to specific details, then yes. Why exactly am I here?"

The somewhat flippant attitude caused Schnee to narrow his eyes slightly. But he didn't stop to comment on it. "For a job of security. You see, as one of the largest Dust manufacturers in Vytal, we receive both positive and negative attention for our work. While it is good to appreciate support, it is the extent of the negatives that have caused me to focus on them rather than the positives.

"And what exactly would the extreme of these negatives be?" Anthony inquired.

A brief silence followed. Schnee's eyes hardened. and he lowered his hands to the table to reveal his scowl. "The White Fang. I needn't tell you of who they are, do I?"

"An extremist group of faunus that have been causing trouble for organizations and factions who've supposedly been discriminating against their kind." The mercenary answered readily, tilting his head to the side. "They've only started to recently pop up in newspapers, though. If you don't mind me asking, how exactly are they causing problems?"

"How aren't they?" This time, Schnee didn't bother to hide his disdain. He threw a frustrated hand up, giving a roll of the eyes and the shake of the head. "Cargo stolen and destroyed, several board members either murdered in cold-blood or captured? Those wild heathens have been the bane of my existence ever since day 1!" The more he spoke, the more agitation showed in his words. "I ask you, how am I expected to run a business if those filthy animals are always trying to ruin it? At the rate in which the company is going, it will surely go under within the year!"

Before the potential rant could escalate, Schnee quickly stopped himself. He took in a deep breath and gave out a slow exhale before speaking again. "Because of how dangerous the White Fang have proven themselves to be, standard security measures have been ineffective. Therefore, I have had to handpick individuals such as yourself to ensure the safety of both cargo and individuals transporting it."

It was somewhat off-putting to hear that a powerful company was hiring mercenaries for the sake of defending valuable cargo. Why not call the authorities if private security wasn't working out? Why rely on independent contractors to protect such high-value goods? These questions swam through Anthony's mind, but he remained silent and chose to listen.

"The most recent train will be on its leave early in the evening. You will head down to access station 4-C and board along with the rest of the defense. The location will be mapped on your phone's GPS if you don't happen to know that location. An assigned commander will designate patrol routes, possible checkpoints any potential brigands may try to enter through and whatever else you need for the job. Naturally, you will be responsible for your own weapons, equipment and supplies."

This was where a grin, much to Schnee's slight surprise, formed on Anthony's face. An unreadable glimmer shone through his eyes. "How strong should I expect the resistance to be?" He asked.

"Due to the value and amount of Dust on this particular train," Although Schnee's eyebrows furrowed at the anticipatory tone within Anthony's voice, he kept his answer steady. "We are expecting a small army to hit at maximum. Most likely, there will be more than a few of their field commanders on scene as well."

That was enough to make the glimmer clear. Anthony hung his head and let out a set of chuckles, unable to keep up his professional attitude in the face of what was waiting for him. "Well, isn't that just a good bit of information to hear?" He murmured. "The only thing that can beat the payment of a job is the challenge of it. It'd be a disappointment if I had to cut down targets that can't even fight back." Swiftly, he raised his head back up to reveal a toothy grin that exposed fangs within his mouth. As he met Schnee's gaze, his right hand extended over the desk. "You've got yourself a guard, partner."

"Indeed I do..." Slowly, Schnee extended his own right hand to clasp Anthony's in a handshake. "I've heard a lot about you, Mr. Riggs. They refer to you as a monster when on the field of battle, a berserker carrying nothing but the intent to slaughter and butcher his foes. Any unfortunate enemy that crosses your path suffers the fate of becoming chopped hamburger where they stand. When you leave that train, I expect those filthy beasts to be freshly chopped up and served to me on a platter. Is that understood?"

When Anthony chuckled again, the malice was practically dripping from his words. "It shall be done, sir..."

* * *

And so, there he was, riding on a train headed off to God-knew-where. He had switched his business attire for the standard getup he wore when on assignments. A plain black T-shirt covered his torso, showing off a rather well-built physique. Fingerless gloves were on his hands. Oliver-brown pants clothed his legs and sandals dressed his feet. There was an X-shaped scabbard on his back, sporting two large machetes. He was sitting on a wooden box full of Dust, accompanied by a small group of fellow patrol personnel making themselves comfortable in front of him.

As one of the potentially stronger parts of the defense, he was nearer to the center where the meat of the cargo was. The layout was comparable to a siege, with two halves being covered by the hired bodyguards. Any attempt to storm the train would be met by initially light resistance, which would grow stronger as the enemy progressed. It was like a level to a video game, with him and his allies serving as the scripted enemy NPCs. If he had to be a specific NPC, however, he would be one of exposition and story-telling. As a matter of fact, he would be in the middle of telling a story.

"...surrounded by all sides." He was speaking with a rather expressive tone to emphasize the respective emotions in his tale. "I couldn't look two feet without seeing Grimm glaring at me. All my teammates were dead and I was the only one left. So naturally, I had one choice." He paused, lifting his lit cigarette to his mouth and taking a puff. As he lowered it and blew the smoke from his nose, he put on a pleased smirk. "I took my blades, ran at the nearest one and started cutting them all down like weeds. You'd be surprised at how easily they fall apart once you really get into killing them. Of course, I didn't get through unscathed. There were a few lucky enough to catch me with their claws, and in the end, I came out torn up pretty bad. But I managed to kill them all, giving me some pretty damn good bragging rights to the boys back home."

One of his devout listeners snorted. "Sounds to me like you're full of crap, Anthony!" He called out, earning the surprised looks of the others. "There's no way someone could take on those kinds of numbers by himself!"

Anthony's grin grew wider, and he folded his arms across his chest. "You don't have to believe me right away." He said. "After all, you will be getting a front row seat to a live reenactment. When the rabid animals step foot on this train, I'm expecting my kill count and their body count to rise like an evicted hell. Just make sure that you aren't added to the casualty list beforehand, yeah?"

Whatever reply that the audience could have cast back wouldn't come to fruition, for the alarms sounded. Heads would turn at the sight of red lights dominating visual of their car, and ears would perk at the faint, frantic voices that could be heard from other cars. The warnings and barks of the patrol commanders would reign audibly over all else.

"We've got intruders on the caboose! All units be advised, we are under attack!"

"Get to defensive positions! Move, move, move!"

"You, there! What are you just standing there for? Do you want to be the first one killed?"

Out of the entire patrol group, Anthony would be the only one who wouldn't hastily scramble to his feet. As the listeners of his story scattered like flies towards their respective positions, he would take another long drag from his cigarette before tossing it away. He arose from his seat with a casual disposition, rolling his neck around to pop stiff bones. His hands reached behind him to grasp his two machetes, slowly drawing them out from their scabbards and brandishing them at his sides. "When all of is said and done," He muttered under his breath. "I'm gonna have a few heads on my desk and a few dozen lien bundles in my safe. I just hope that what Schnee said is correct..."

With that being said, he began to walk towards his respective position. The enemy wasn't going to wait for him, after all.

* * *

From a distance not so far away, the figures of gunships could be seen heading towards the train. They flew over forests, mountain ranges and small towns isolated from civilization. There were a total of three, with all of them flying in a triangle formation. All of them were armed to the teeth with weapons potent enough to shred a small army – something perfect for the operation they were about to perform. On each ship, there were a total of eight soldiers fully armed and ready to be unleashed upon whatever hapless target they chose.

Blake Belladonna and Adam Taurus would be sitting in the lead gunship beside one another. They would be in the midst of several "faceless" henchmen, serving as the shock troops for the attack. They would be responsible for cutting through and softening the enemy's defenses so that the "common" troops could move in. They were two of the best agents under the White Fang's banner, and this mission would demonstrate how effective they were in battle.

"Reaching the intercept point. E.T.A. sixty seconds." The pilot's voice caused Blake's closed eyes to open up just in time to see Adam's figure move past her. At the edge of the seat row, two gunmen rose from their spots. She sighed with a slightly reluctant expression, but rose from her own spot to follow her partner. The pairs switched spots, with Adam and Blake in position to be the first ones off the ship. One hand of each would be resting on the hilts of their respective weapons, ready to unsheathe them within a moment's notice.

The reluctant and troubled look on Blake's face did not go unnoticed by Adam. "You look troubled." He said, earning him a mild glare.

"You'll have to forgive me if I'm not very enthusiastic about this mission." She said dryly. "It's not exactly enjoyable killing things with actual souls."

"Souls controlled by greed and money." Although she couldn't see his eyes, she was pretty sure that with the tone he took with her, he was rolling them. His quip-filled tone was soon to replaced by ire as his words addressed the enemy. "They're safeguarding cargo made through the slavery of our brothers and sisters. They're ensuring that those scumbags in suits have their faunus-discriminate policies enforced all for the sake of a few more Lien. They deserve nothing more than death."

The disapproval could've never been any clearer on Blake's face. But she remained silent, prompting Adam to speak again. "You will do well to remember this, Blake. These people?" He paused with a thin-lipped scowl. "Out of all the humans on this earth, the ones we're about to fight are the slimiest and filthiest of all. Think of this mission as nothing more than a "cleansing", if you have to."

The pilot would cut Blake off before she could say anything else. "We've got confirmed hostiles setting up defensive perimeters at the town edge. Spinning the minigun cannons."

At the train edge, several bodyguards had come from the innards of their car and had rifles aimed at the gunships as the dreaded cannons spun up. They would open fire as soon as the mechanical birds got close enough. Bullets of Dust would hit the glass of the windshield in an attempt to slay the pilots, but could get no farther than the surface. Thus, nothing could be done by them to stop the next series of events.

"This is Peregrine to Grizzly and Dragon." The pilot said to the other two. "All targets are confirmed to be hostile, you are cleared to engage."

"Copy that, Peregrine!" The voice of pilot "Grizzly" would respond back over the radio. "Engaging!"

Simultaneously, all three gunships would open fire on the target area with their miniguns.

It was a shower of destruction. The troops were reduced to mushy chunks of flesh as the armor-piercing bullets ripped through their bodies. Blood and body parts were quick to cover the floor of that area as the gunships annihilated the initial defense wave. If it wasn't for the roar of the engines, the occupants would've heard the screams of both panic and agony as death came from above. Remnants of the patrol continued to fire desperately at the ships, but started retreating back into the train where the heavy plating would keep them covered. It was only seconds into the assault, and already the White Fang were making a rather heavy impression on the hired mercenaries.

Although his tone maintained that cold professionalism, the pilot had a satisfied smile on his face as he spoke to his fellow operators. "Peregrine to Grizzly and Dragon, I'll be performing insertion before bugging out. Keep those targets suppressed and provide support for the squad, over."

"Roger that, Peregrine!" Grizzly's voice responded, turning itself to Dragon after. "Dragon, you take the left side, I'll take the right."

"Copy your last, Grizzly..."

As the two gunships departed to cover each side of the moving train, the Peregrine gunship would turn itself around and begin its descent to the train's edge. It would hover inches from the platform it had attacked, slowly opening its ramp for its troops. Blake and Adam had to avert their eyes from the initially blinding sunlight before their sight adjusted, allowing them to take in the scene of carnage. There was disgust flashing within Blake's eyes as she saw stray arms and limbs hanging all over the place. She was very grateful that she happened to be wearing boots when she stepped onto the metal of the platform, for the soles would be soaked in the red fluid.

Nevertheless, she stepped out further to allow Adam and the rest of the troops to exit the gunship. She surveyed the area for any more hostiles, needing only a few seconds to conclude that all of them had retreated inside the cars. She also took note that the car in front of the platform they were on was particularly massive, comparable to the likes of a small house. If the rest of the cars were that way, then there was absolute guaranteed for constant ambushes throughout this assault. They would have to keep on their toes if they wanted to get out in one piece.

"All right." Adam turned his voice to all present, making his way through the blood puddle.. "Here's what's going to happen. Dragon and Grizzly are going to drop off their squads on the other side of the train before Dragon bugs out. Grizzly will stay behind to provide air support upon our call. Blake," He turned his attention to Blake before reaching to his waist and pulling off a walkie-talkie. He tossed it to her, and she caught it without hesitation. "You'll be marking off and calling the targets."

"Right." Blake confirmed, giving an acknowledging nod.

"As for everyone else," Adam continued, looking over his shoulder at the squad. "Make sure to be extra careful. Once we're inside of the train cars, chances are there won't be much cover to take. Keep close to me and Blake, push hard and don't let up. Don't bother trying to discriminate targets here; this train is automated and has its destination set. All unknowns are hostile. Understand?"

"Yes, sir!" The soldiers responded in unison.

"Good. On me."

With that, Adam rushed up to the entrance with his hand on the hilt of Wilt and Blush. Blake was beside him, and the foot soldiers were not too far behind. Reaching onto the belt on his waist once more, he pulled off what looked like a small keypad and hooked it to the center of the automatic double doors. After typing in a series of numbers, he tensed up and gripped the hilt of his sword in preparation. There would be a five-second interval marked by beeps from the keypad, allowing them time for final mental concentration. He would give one final word to his subordinates.

"Ready?"

In response, they tensed themselves and readied their weapons.

With the final beep, the doors opened up.

When the two shock troops stormed in first, they would find themselves faced with a hail of fire. In the center of the massive space were two machine guns, mounted on barricades and manned by a respective mercenary. There would be several more barricades scattered on their side, with one or two enemy gunmen behind each barricade. Adam had been right about the scenario; against the barrage, the White Fang foot soldiers had little to no cover and certainly would've gotten slaughtered in any other situation. All they could do was jump to a prone position and return fire from that point, hoping to take out the gunners before they were shredded.

But of course, that was a scenario excluding the shock troopers.

The storm of bullets would be intercepted and deflected by the blades of Adam and Blake as they lunched forward. Within seconds, and much to the alarm of the targeted, they would appear right in front of the machine gunners. They wouldn't have time to even get their fingers off of the triggers before being subject to varying execution methods. Leaping over the barricade, Adam would pull the trigger of Blush and grasp the hilt of Wilt just as it was fired, swinging it in a lightning-fast quick-draw that decapitated the gunner. As he landed, he spun around and sliced the man in two from the groin up before blasting the pieces away with Bush. Blake would stab her target in the chest before twirling around and tossing him into the air. Both sheath and sword would work together to dice the hapless gunner to pieces.

From there, all Hell would break loose.

"Oh, fuck!"

"They took out the machine gunners! They're right on us!"

"Take them out, now!"

All of the gunfire would be focused on Adam and Blake, allowing the prone White Fang troops to rush forward and unleash suppressing fire on that position. Their guns would start mowing down the distracted mercenaries, effectively throwing the defensive line into considerable chaos. Adam and Blake would continue to shred the opposition, tearing through the lesser foes like hot knives through butter. Within the time span of a minute, the entire position had been annihilated with only blood and bodies left behind.

"Take the next car!" Adam barked, sprinting to the exit of the one they were in. "Go, go, go!"

He kicked the door open and rushed out to what would be actually another platform. This time, there would be plenty of cover for both sides in the form of crates, barrels and stands for the railings. The White Fang soldiers would converge and hide themselves as mercenaries poured from the car after to take up positions on the opposite side. It wasn't long before gunfire once again started erupting, bullets piercing and whistling through the air. Even the mounted machine gunners, positioned behind a respective pile of sandbags, would be unable to simply rip them apart this time. Even the partners-in-crime chose to take cover behind a particularly large crate, pressing their backs against it with their weapons at the ready.

"They certainly aren't making it easy to get to their cargo." Adam growled, looking to his partner. "Any chance you can call in a strike?"

"You're being too dramatic." Blake said dismissively, taking a momentary peek out from their spot before jerking her head to barely avoid a shot in her direction. "Their nest is concentrated, but it's not that difficult to break. All we need to do is move up little-by-little and-"

But then, she heard it. They would all hear a sound they would dread to hear on missions such as these. It was the mechanical gears of not one, but two Spider Droids that clambered onto the platform. Even the enemy mercenaries were surprised by their appearance, and they scrambled to get out of the way for the massive machines. Alternatively, the White Fang soldiers held expressions of shock and horror on their face as they saw the monstrosities stomp and swat away the objects that had been used for the enemy's cover.

"SPIDERS!"

"Droids, too?! What kind of cargo do they have that needs the protection of these droids?!"

Then, all eight cannons were leveled at their position, garnering a mixed response of terror and shock.

"Fall back! Fall back! They're about to fire!"

"Get out of there! Those things are gonna-"

But it was too late for them. The droids had locked on to their targets, and the heavy cannons were enough to destroy the cover the White Fang troops had made for themselves. All they could do was scramble and try to run back to the previous car for protection. This caused the droids' targeting sensors to target them, allowing a horrified Adam and Blake to keep their position behind the massive crate. When those cannons fired, the massive orbs they unleashed fell upon the six gunmen like artillery and pulverized them into ash. Even so, they wouldn't stop firing upon the area that the gunmen had stopped in. The car they had passed through was destroyed in the process, with both it and the initial platform blown apart from the tracks.

Thankfully, the barrage had not reached the exact spot where Adam and Blake were.

"So," Adam yelled, his tone as sarcastic as it was serious. "Do you still think I'm being a bit too dramatic?"

After giving him a death glare, Blake yanked the walkie-talkie off of her weapons belt and turned it on to contact their air support. "This is Blake to Grizzly! We've encountered heavy resistance in the form of armored spider droids! Targets danger close!"

"Armored spider droids?" The voice on the other end was incredulous. "What did you guys do to tick them off?"

"Just get here!" Blake snapped, not in the mood for any small talk.

"Copy that. Hang on, we're rolling in!"

Just like that, the threat was dealt with.

Missiles would come out of seemingly nowhere and hit one of the droids, causing them to explode in a fiery blaze. The other one would turn to see the Grizzly gunship approaching, instantly locking its cannons on to it as it spun its minigun cannons. Once again, it would fire with a zealous aim to destroy. In response, the gunship swerved to barely evade the shots directed towards it.

"Whoa!"

Although the pilot wasn't exactly remaining calm under the circumstances, he still had control. The gunship's guns would continue to spin until fully prepared, and it was at that point that the hail of rounds was unleashed. They ripped through the machine with ease, piercing through to its innards and destroying the circuitry. It wasn't long before that droid malfunctioned and exploded as well, clearing the way for the remaining two soldiers.

As Adam and Blake recomposed themselves, the pilot spoke upon seeing their predicament. "Wow. Down to you two already? And here I thought the foot soldiers would've lasted longer."

"So did we." Adam said darkly, a scowl on his face. "We thought it would have been just simple mercenaries guarding the stash. Never would have assumed they would resort to the use of droids to protect their dirty work." He clenched his fist in anger. "Damn the Schnee to Hell!"

"We can mourn our fallen brothers and sisters later, after this is over and done with." Blake reminded him. "We've still got Grizzly, and there's still the sixteen soldiers closing in on the other flank. We need to keep pushing forward while we still can."

Adam took in a deep breath, reaching up to push his mask securely on his face. He would speak after a moment of silence taken to recompose himself. "Grizzly, go back to the other side of the train and assist the fireteam with the push. Blake and I will keep pushing through on this side. Go!"

"Roger that." Grizzly said, his gunship already carrying him away to the other side. "Try not to get yourselves killed, yeah?"

As it flew away, Adam would look at Blake and meet her yellow, cat-like gaze with his own. "I guess it's just the two of us from this point on." He said dryly. "At least until we're reunited with the other side of the assault."

"Just like old times?" Blake inquired, raising a slight eyebrow and putting on a smirk. Seeing and hearing her spunk prompted Adam to give a returning smirk of his own.

"Yeah. Just like old times."

With their weapons and each other at their sides, the two moved forward to take the next car.

* * *

"We're being overrun! The White Fang are pushing us back! We have to fall back before we're overrun!"

"The Bullhead's making another pass! Someone take that thing out!"

"We're getting fucked six ways from Sunday! Game over, man! Game over!"

On the other side of the train, it was absolute chaos for the Schnee's hired mercenaries. A fireteam of White Fang soldiers were aggressively pushing against the defensive position, pushing their lines to the limit. For every casualty they inflicted on the enemy army, three to five lives would be claimed on their own side. The mercenaries had fought valiantly, but the relentlessness of the enemy was starting to take effect. Now, the mercenaries were being pushed back into a corner with their field commander gunned down and the Bullhead continuing to rain death upon their retreating backs. With the two shock troopers on the other end and hidden from their notice, it was only a matter of time before the White Fang wiped the Schnee mercenaries out completely.

Among the few that had held both mental and physical composure in the face of unspeakable odds was Jesse "The Kid" Cox. He was also one of the few that had not gotten replaced by reinforcements due to a crippling injury or death, thanks to the professional level of skill he was demonstrating in the art of gun play. He took cover when enemy fire was getting too much for him, moved from cover to cover whenever the coast was clear enough to maintain unpredictability, and intercepted stray offensive enemies before they could sneak past the mercenaries' defensive lines. His automatic rifle was providing effective suppressing fire against the enemy, effectively lending a hand in prolonging the distance between the two sides. But with the line slowly being broken and the morale of his colleagues fading, he knew that there was little time.

"Hold position in front of the car behind us!" He shouted out, ducking down behind the crate he was hiding behind to reload a fresh clip into his assault rifle. "There's weapon crates inside that'll be of some use against that gunship! You guys will have to cover me while I get one!"

"Do what now?" One of the mercenaries near him responded incredulously. "You're telling us to hold here and risk getting shredded by that annoying Bullhead while you play hero? We're seriously not going to hold out for much longer!"

"Oh, stop being such a baby!" Jesse snapped back, his blue eyes glaring at the mercenary who had chosen to speak up. "We've been holding out this long, you can last another one or two minutes!"

"Fine." The mercenary couldn't help but growl in irritation, quickly ducking behind cover to reload his own assault rifle. "But if we all get killed before you get back, my ghost is gonna haunt you till the end of your days."

"I'll make note of that."

With the dry and sarcastic response, Jesse made a run for the car behind him. His body was hunched and his head was down to keep it from getting torn off by the bullets constantly whizzing over his head. Thankfully, it was only a short run and jump before he reached the destination, rushing through the doors when they automatically opened for him. He completed his brief run with a faceplant as the doors shut behind him, the sound of deflected bullets showing just how close he had been to getting shot up. His rifle clattered to the floor as he stood back up, placing his hands on his knees and trying to catch his breath.

"I can't believe this is happening." He panted, an exhausted and weary look on his face. He ran a gloved hand over his faded haircut. "We were told that the White Fang had the strength of a paramilitary. But I didn't think they'd be so much of a challenge to bring down! If I don't take out that gunship, everything and everyone's going to be shot to hell!" Trying his best to recompose himself, he stumbled over to the precious weapon crates and visually scanned over each one. "Okay, where is it, where is it..."

"Looking for this?"

Anthony's voice caused his body to twist around in surprise. The man himself was leaning against the wall nearest to the door with his two machetes stabbed in the ground beside him. In his arms was the weapon Jesse was looking for – an anti-material rail gun. With a swing of those arms, Anthony tossed it to Jesse and folded his arms across his chest just as the mercenary caught it. "I gave it a weapons check and took the safety off." He said, a subtle tone of smugness coating his words. "You're very welcome, by the way."

It would have been rather appropriate, given the circumstances, to be grateful to have an ally move one step ahead of Jesse for the sake of preparation. But it occurred to Jesse that Anthony might have spent a good deal of the battle sitting it out in the car while their associates were getting pressured by the second. That and the tone of voice Anthony chose to take with caused Jesse to narrow his eyes and scowl deeply. "And what the hell exactly have you been doing?" He demanded more than asked. "You should've been out there fighting alongside us! Quit being a lazy coward!"

Anthony snorted. "Lazy coward?" He repeated mockingly, frowning. "I think you've gotten the definitions of "obedience of orders" and "self-preservation" mixed with one another, Kid. The field commander gave me explicit instructions to stay behind and wait in the shadows until the main force couldn't handle it any more. I'm a "last resort", so to speak." He lowered his head and closed his eyes. "Though, I have to admit, that alone wouldn't have stopped me from going out there early."

"Uh huh." Jesse growled, somewhat disbelieving of his claim to be a last resort for the defense force. "And just what else was keeping you from saving us a number of casualties?"

The fire within his eyes would flicker the moment he saw Anthony smile a not-so-nice smile, but reignite at the words spoken. "I was unsure of exactly how you chicken-shit mercenaries would react once I really get into it."

"Excuse me?" Jesse's eyes widened with indignation, and he shifted the rail gun so that it was holstered at a hip position. The barrel would be pointed towards Anthony's form, with a finger steady on the trigger. "I'd watch what I'd say if I were you, buddy! I'm one trigger pull away from sending you off this train in a mass of ash!"

"For stating the truth?" Anthony raised his head up, regarding Jesse with clear condescension. "I've been at work with plenty of mercenaries. All they care about is getting the job they're assigned over with and returning home with a handsome fee. When things go wrong, they start to panic and break down. They're not disciplined enough to fight to the death, not motivated enough to go down with their guns blazing." He took amusement in seeing Jesse's lip slowly curl in a snarl as he gave his tongue-lashing. "The mercenaries with us aren't any different, judging from what I'm hearing out there."

He pushed his back off of the wall, unfolding his arms. "Don't get me wrong, I love cash as much as the next hired hand and I'm very well expecting to get paid handsomely for this. But that's hardly the true reward I get from jobs like these." He held his hands out in front of himself, taking on a more excited tone as he continued to speak. "The real reward is the battle itself! The experience of bullets whizzing over head, swords banging against one another, flesh being cut up and torn apart, blood being spilled like cans of paint?" His hands clenched, and he swung his arms down with a violent emphasis. "It makes my blood boil just thinking about it!"

"You're sick." A disgusted and unnerved look crossed Jesse's face, and his grip on the rail gun became just a little bit shaky. Although he was trying to maintain a fierce visage, there were flickers of obvious unease within his blue orbs. "You're insane. Disgusting."

"And you're a one-hundred-percent coward." Anthony mocked, relaxing his hands. "This is exactly what I'm talking about. If you're acting like this from just me speaking about it, then I think you just might piss yourself the moment I start swinging my blades." He tilted his head to the side. "That would also explain why you're choosing to speak to me instead of getting back out there to take on that gunship. What, are you afraid of getting torn apart just like the rear flank did?"

Jesse let out a growl, raising the rail gun so he could properly aim it at Anthony – more specifically, Anthony's head. His finger tightened, more than ready to blast the psychopathic mercenary in front of him. "You no-good son of a-!"

"Kid! Where the hell are you?" An angry voice coming through his earpiece cut him off before he could carry through his execution. Quickly and begrudgingly, he lowered the railgun to concentrate on listening. "They're getting closer and closer to us and that gunship's making another pass! If you don't get your ass out here right now, we're gonna be-" However, the anger within that voice would be replaced by panic. "Oh, shit! It's spinning its guns again! Everyone, get down!"

Sure enough, the sounds of the dreaded minigun fire would reign supreme over all the other sounds heard outside. Jesse's face paled, and he sucked in a deep breath before shaking his head. "I don't have time for this." He growled, beginning to storm his way out. With each and every second he wasted, more of their side was bound to die. "I've gotta take down that ship before it kills us all."

"Hold it!" Anthony would take on a more serious tone as he verbally stopped Jesse. The smile fell from his face, and he regarded the door with a contemplative look. "I don't think it'd be a good idea for you to just go out there. With all that gunfire going around, you'll get torn to bits the moment you step out." He grasped his twin machetes and pulled them out of their impaled position on the train floor, slowly stepping in front of the door. He made sure to keep barely enough distance from it to keep the automatic sensors from picking him up. "I'll handle the foot soldiers. Out of all of you meat bags, I can rush into a barrage of gunfire and not have to worry about getting mowed down where I stand."

A sneer came across Jesse's face. "Well, aren't you the special one?"

That sneer was quick to wash off of his face when Anthony looked over his shoulder to meet his gaze. "They'll focus their fire on me, allowing you to wipe out the Bullhead with no problems. All you have to deal with is being a shot good enough to swat the fly."

It was here that Jesse remembered Anthony's status compared to the rest of them. This exchange proved him to be very anti-social and even more infuriating. But it did nothing to lower his level of profession. There was a justified reason why the field commander would pick him as a last resort, and with the enemy closing in, he didn't see any other choices. He took in another breath to calm himself. "You worry about yourself, psychopath." He said. "All I'll need is one shot and one shot only."

"I should hope so." Following that statement would be Anthony's tension of preparation. His eyes narrowed at the door, his leg muscles coiling and ready to make a run for it. His ears heard the storm of bullets stop and the engines of the gunship as it moved to a position directly in front of the defensive line. "On the count of three. One..."

His hands gripped the handles of his weapons tightly.

"Two..."

Behind him, he could hear the cock of the rail gun and the shifting of a body stance.

"Three!"

He ran, not stopping as the doors opened up to reveal the outside.

As expected, he was greeted with concentrated fire. His machetes moved as he ran, deflecting the bullets with constant twisting of his machetes. His legs boosted himself into the air, playing leapfrog with the larger crates as he raced towards his quarry. With each and every sound made as the Dust-imbued metal bounced off of the metal of his makeshift shields, he found his blood growing hotter and hotter. Once again, he would feel his mouth spread to expose his teeth in a feral smile. A mental energy that was felt so many battles before would swell up within him, reaching a crescendo once he leaped off the final box and ascended for the final time.

Time would slow down for a breath's moment. He would feel the shocked gazes of both ally and enemy on him. He would feel the chill of the wind as it blew against him. He would see a total of total of thirteen targets, all of which were paralyzed by the sight of him. He would hear the alarmed shout of one he descended towards, reveling in the fear shining from the words shouted out to his comrades.

"Enemy Trump Ca-!"

The cutting edge of a falling machete would stop him short, slicing from the top of the skull straight down the middle. Blood erupted from the cut, spraying Anthony's form with the red liquid. The brief warmth that the liquid and the sudden chill that followed it made him shiver. As he swiftly straightened up, he crossed his arms before delivering two horizontal slices. The seven pieces would fall against the metal of the train platform, producing rather sickening sounds as broken flesh fell even further apart. It was a swift and brutal execution – one which would emphasize just what the White Fang soldiers were in for.

He lowered his machetes, fixing his stare on the horrified expressions of his targets. Flipping his machetes in a reverse hold, he brought the cutting edges in front of them and scraped them together. "A butcher should welcome a new shipment of meat with open arms." He said, the hunger for blood and the desire to kill clear as crystal. "Come here, all you pigs! I want to hear you squeal!"

He threw himself at his foes, his blood-stained blades gleaming in the sunlight as they were swung once more.

* * *

"This is getting too easy."

As he slung the blood off of his blade, Adam would make that very remark to Blake. He sheathed Wilt within Blush and turned towards her just as she was cutting down the last mercenary of their current car. "You'd think that by now, more Spider Droids would be deployed to our position. All of these gunmen are just becoming little more than bull's-eye targets." He took the time to look around the room. "And I have yet to see our cargo shipments."

"We haven't reached the center yet." Blake said, slinging the blood off of her own katana and sheath. She slid the blade back within its scabbard before putting both weapons on her back, folding her arms across her chest. "Maybe they're concentrating all of their defense there instead of near it. It would seem more efficient if they're in danger of getting pushed back completely." She directed her gaze towards the exit door. "In any case, we're just a few cars away from the target destination. We should keep moving and join up with the front flank."

"Right." Adam muttered, turning himself to the car exit. "Mop up, set the charges and get out of here while-"

"Blake! This is Grizzly! Are you there?" The voice of Grizzly cut him off, turning both his and Blake's attention to the walkie-talkie on Blake's waist. "God, please respond!"

Immediately, Blake snapped the walkie-talkie off of her waist and turned it on, a stern alarm on her face. "What's going on, Grizzly?"

"There is a confirmed enemy Trump Card* engaging us! He's breaking through our lines and he's tearing the foot units to pieces!" The pilot's voice was riddled with alarm and terror, which would increase with each and every second that he talked. "He's already down to three- no, make that one- wait a minute, is that a rail gun?! Shit, that's it! Evade, say again, evade! Do not let-"

Those would be the last words the pilot would ever speak, emphasized by a loud bang and an explosion. The radio would emit nothing but static from that point on, causing Blake's face to pale and her ears to twitch in a quiet horror as she heard large parts of metal collide against the ground outside. Someone had just taken down their air support and, if the pilot was talking sense, shredded the remainder of their ground forces. As of now, she and Adam were the only White Fang soldiers on the train. All of a sudden, the tables had turned violently against them.

She was brought out of her horror when she heard Adam chuckle. The male Faunus put a hand to his chin, putting on a grim smile. "So that was it. While we were breezing through their forces, the other side was getting destroyed by an apparent Trump Card. I don't think we've faced one of these in quite a while, have we, Blake?"

She was less than amused. Her eyes glared intensely at Adam and a disapproving scowl was made out of her mouth. "This isn't a game, Adam!" She snapped, causing him to recoil slightly in surprise. "Just like that, our brethren were killed off like lambs to the slaughter! There was those two Spider Droids and now there's this! We don't even know how powerful this person is!"

But before Adam could respond to her outburst, both of them picked up a whirring noise coming from one of the walls. They swung their heads in the direction of the noise, immediately spotting something they had failed to notice earlier. There was a large horizontal corridor in the middle of the wall, with a platform coming into view. Riding on that platform just happened to be a multitude of armed mercenaries, their rifles aimed directly at the two Faunus.

The sounds of automatic rifles firing filled the air, bullets racing towards their targets. However, Blake and Adam managed to unsheathe their respective weapons and start deflecting the bullets away. Adam let out a frustrated grunt as he took a few steps forward. "Blake, I'll handle these punks. You go on ahead. Take out the remaining guards, kill the Trump Card and destroy that cargo shipment!"

"But-" Blake began, but Adam harshly cut her off.

"NOW!"

After sparing him another worried glance, Blake quickly maneuvered herself out of the gunfire. When he saw her retreating, Adam charged at them and turned all of their attention onto him. As for her, she raced out the doors and to the next car. She clutched Gambol Shroud tightly, wary about what she was about to face up ahead.

* * *

Anthony let out a slow breath as he slung the blood off of his machetes, sheathing them within his custom cross scabbard. All around him lay the White Fang soldiers, with both their bodies and weapons cut to pieces. It was a rather disturbing sight for the surviving mercenaries to see, with some of them even looking squeamish. It didn't help that their murder's body and clothing was stained with the red fluid that the enemy unwillingly spilled. He looked nothing short of the serial killer one would see in the movies, right down to the satisfied smile as he looked at his own work. For Anthony, it was one of the greatest sensations he would ever come to feel in his lifetime.

Only one mercenary had the guts to speak out to him.

"Had your fill?" Jesse asked dryly, making his way through the defensive lines with a smoking rail gun in order to face Anthony. Like the rest of them, he was a little more than unnerved upon seeing Anthony kill the White Fang soldiers. But of course, all the guy was doing was his job – defeating the enemy. As long as he didn't start killing him and the other mercenaries in the process, how he dealt with the White Fang troops was entirely up to him.

"No." Anthony replied, the smile fading from his face. "All of the soldiers I've killed were no more than small fry. Either Schnee was wrong, or we haven't seen the field commanders face-to-face yet." He directed his attention towards the door, placing his hands on his hips. "The rear flank got kicked in while we've been stuck dealing with this side. If they have soldiers that can fight like I can, chances are they're going to be coming from that direction."

"Don't tell me you're going to face them all by yourself!" Jesse complained. "You don't know how many there are!"

Anthony shrugged. "The more, the merrier." He walked past Jesse, and the other mercenaries were all to quick to clear a path for him. "I trust you walking bullet cushions will be fine with holding down this spot. Try not to get killed while I'm gone, yeah?" He hopped to the previous car and stepped inside, leaving the other mercenaries to stare after him as he disappeared behind the door.

"Jesse." One of the mercenaries would take the time to approach the young man with a clear look of unease. He kept his focus on the door, almost as if expecting Anthony to come back and start swinging his machetes on them. "Are you sure we can trust that guy? No offense, but he seems like a fucking psycho. How do you know he won't start killing us after he's done with them?"

A heavy sigh escaped Jesse. "He's an arrogant prick, and I don't think you're shooting far calling him a psycho." He answered. "But he also knows what to do and just so happens to be very good at it. If he wanted to kill us, I guarantee that he probably would've done it while we were being pushed back by the White Fang troops." This earned a slight shudder from the other mercenary. "Once he finishes off the last of them, we can all go home and have some hot chow."

"I hope so." The mercenary grumbled, shaking his head and moving away to rejoin his unit. "I really hope so..."

* * *

A wave of apprehension came over Blake when she entered the target car and found that there was no one inside.

There were the crates labeled "S.D.C." in a far-off corner, a tell-tale sign that they were the shipment the White Fang had come to destroy. There were blockades and machine gun nests settled on both sides of the room, with a miniature No Man's Land between them. But there were no guards manning the machine guns or taking cover behind the barricades. There wasn't even any Spider Bots hiding in the shadows as a last resort. It was very off-putting, especially considering the ambush that caught her and Adam earlier. Was there any possible traps set here?

Before she could use any means to test it out, Adam's voice rang out on her earpiece. "Find it, Blake?"

She gave an instinctive nod as she turned her mic on, momentarily forgetting the fact that he couldn't see it. "Yeah. The shipment's here just like you said it was. But there's no one in here to defend it. Not even their Trump Card's in here. What do you think?"

"I want to say that they're finally starting to relent and give us no more resistance." Adam said begrudgingly. "But given how things went with the front flank, I doubt that they're going to sit back and wait for us to ruin their shipment. They're probably stepping aside and letting their Trump Card deal with it all. It'd certainly be a step above constantly sending waves of walking targets our way. Keep your guard up and keep a look out for that Card."

"What about you?"

"I'm starting to get a funny feeling about this train. I'm going to stay behind and go back to inspect the cars we've been through. I'll catch up with you when I'm done. Think you can fare without me for a while?"

Blake frowned. "I'm not a damsel in distress, Adam." She said with slight ire. "I can take care of myself, thank you very much."

A chuckle. "So you can. Try not to miss me too much. Adam out."

Blake rolled her eyes as the transmission was cut, making her way around the barricades. She focused her gaze on the shipment, her eyebrows furrowing in thought. "Adam's the one with the charges." She muttered to himself. "But he expects me to destroy these crates by myself? I suppose I can grab them one by one, toss them outside with the lids open and hope the wind takes care of the rest."

"Oh, I'm afraid that the only thing getting thrown outside is your gut-deprived corpse, little lady."

All senses jumped to their height once she heard a voice, low and guttural, cut through the air. Her shocked and yellow eyes raised to meet the blue-and-green gaze of the proclaimed "Trump Card". He wore a black T-shirt, faded brown pants, sandals and fingerless gloves. All of it, plus his arms and face, were covered in blood. As he casually walked down the steps that led to the barricades on his sides, she could see the extent of his well-built physique via the chest muscles that bulged predominantly within his shirt. He was certainly an intimidating sight to see, and now Blake understood just why Grizzly had sounded so terrified.

After all, only a moron would assume the smile on his face to be a pleasant one.

Blake's grip on Gambol Shroud tightened as she watched him walk around the barricades to face her directly. Her eyes fixed a resentful glare as she picked up the smell of his victims' blood. "I take it you're the Trump Card that just finished killing my comrades?" She asked tersely.

It earned her a brief look of confusion, with him being caught off-guard by the term she referred to him as. But after that moment, the smile returned with a lace of arrogance. "Oh, that must be a term you use to address the more deadly adversary, right? If it wasn't for the circumstances, I'd be flattered." He reached behind him to grasp the hilts of his machetes, slowly and deliberately drawing them out. The grating sound of metal scraping against metal caused Blake to shudder slightly – something that caused him mental delight in causing. Once he drew them fully out, he lowered them to his side in an almost non-threatening stance. "Especially considering I'm facing such a rather fetching woman..."

"Shut up!" Blake growled. "You have some nerve talking to me like that. Do you have any guilt for what you've done, any regrets for the lives you've taken?"

"What I've done?" Anthony shot back with a more harsh and mocking tone, spreading his arms out briefly in a shrugging motion. "I don't even know why the hell you'd ask me that. All I'm doing is my job! Right now, that job's requiring me to slaughter you filthy animals until none remain! The only regret I could possibly have is not having more of you to dice up." He lowered his machetes to his side again, cocking an eyebrow as he eyed Blake. "Then again, maybe skinning one of you alive would more than make up for it! How about it, piss-eyes? You ever thought about being a pelt or a rug in your near future?"

His words made a combination of disgust and anger quell within her. With a violent swing of her bladed sheath, she settled into an aggressive and preparatory stance. "I will not stand you talking like we're nothing more than animals, you monster!" She shouted, not restraining the snarl on her face. "I came on this train only to get rid of what was made by the hands of forced labor. But now that I've heard you speak such vile words..."

Then, she launched herself at a grinning Anthony. As soon as she neared him, the edge of her sheath would bang against the edge of his machetes one at a time. A total of three blows would be exchanged between the two, and with each strike, Blake could practically feel the immense physical power being channeled from him to his blade as he countered her attacks. In terms of a direct fight, he had a higher chance of overwhelming her than she had of him.

That was demonstrated on the third swing. His machete would batter her sheath aside and knock her off balance for a brief moment. But it was all that he needed. With widened eyes of excitement, he swung the other machete and cleaved her in two from the waist. He would earn the shift of her expression from angry to horrified with sadistic pleasure, watching as both of her halves started to fall to the ground.

But his smile would fade out of shock when he saw the two halves disappear as soon as he divided her.

It was a millisecond afterward that the sole of her boot would collide with his face. A sharp yell escaped him as he was sent flying away, his back crashing into a far barricade. The force of the kick and the weight of his body caused the rooted barricade to tear away from the floor as he tumbled over it. His form would lay sprawled in a rather painful-looking position on it, and he would emit slight groans as he tried pushing himself back up. Blake lowered her leg down to the ground while keeping a convicting glare on him, finishing her statement.

"I believe that killing you," She whispered, her voice as cold as the steel she wielded in her hand. "Just became top priority."

With a final grunt, Anthony shoved himself off the barricade and fell to one of his knees. He sucked in a deep breath, pushing himself up to his feet and raising his head. At first, there was a scowl on his face as he glared at Blake. But after fully taking in her words, the scowl would turn back into a menacing grin. "Glad to hear it." He hissed, holding both blades out to his side and tensing his legs. His body hunched over, and both of his machete tips were pointed at his opponent. "Now, show me more!"

When he lunged, she lunged. His machetes met her sheath and sword at the halfway point, causing a violent shower of sparks to fly between them. It began a fierce dance between the human and Faunus – one that pushed both of their fighting forms to the limit. He fought with the aggression of a rhino, feral in his movements yet showing a great deal of experience with his swings. In comparison to him, she was a hornet that kept flying around and stinging him whenever an opening was available. It was more than often that she found herself darting around his strikes in order to deliver her own. If it wasn't for the defense of his Aura, she would've certainly killed him many times over.

The first time she retreated would be the first time she got a feel of his composure. The shape of his eyes were open circles, with the pupil and iris shrunken down to drastically small levels. In conjunction with that, there was a smile on his face that exposed the rows of teeth in a carnal display. He cackled like a madman as he chased after her, his swinging blades carving through several of the barricades. This man was an absolute beast, tearing through anything that was unfortunate enough to stand between him and the target.

If she had to be praised for anything right now, it would be the ability to keep her cool even as her back hit the wall.

She ducked a horizontal swipe that scarred the metal surface, falling onto a palm and feet before slamming a boot into his chest. But this time, he would provide her with a counter-attack. As he was knocked back, his fingers pressed a button on each of his machete handles. One half of each blade separated from the other, moving down to the handle bottom like a Swiss army knife. The result was each of the machetes forming a bladed staff, with the cutting edges facing away from each other. With an aggressive swing of his arms and a feral scream of excitement, he threw them at her one-by-one before his back collided with the floor. They would come to her as spinning pinwheels, making the promise of slicing her up into pieces if their teeth met her flesh.

Quickly moving to a crouching position, Blake rolled out of the way just before the pinwheels could cut her up. The blades sliced through the walls, sending a shower of sparks onto the floor and briefly illuminating the area. As she came out of her roll and looked over her shoulder, her eyes widened at the sight of the pinwheels circling back to her position. It was like facing down two heat-seeking missiles that wouldn't stop unless they hit something. That something happened to be her, and unless she thought of something soon, becoming chopped hamburger was going to be a near reality.

Fortunately, she had both the tact and the tool for defending herself. The blade of her katana bent inward, progressing to its pistol form. She swung the weapon and pulled the trigger, launching her own "boomerang" at the spinning weapons. The momentum and force of it was enough to send one violently off-course, knocking it aside and causing it to impale itself on the train floor. She swung the boomerang around by the ribbon attached to her arm, which entangled itself within the pinwheel blades and stopped its threatening whirl. With the burden wrapped around it, the double-edge would clatter uselessly to the ground. In two movements, Blake had disarmed her foe and left him vulnerable to attack.

Or so she had thought.

Right after she knocked the pinwheels out of the sky, she felt a disturbance from her side. She turned just in time to see the figure of Anthony bear down on her, but wouldn't have the time needed to evade his hand. It collided with her throat, his fingers wrapping around her neck as he tackled her to the ground. The wind was pushed from her lungs when his weight fell upon her body, pinning her to where she landed. Not wanting to give her leverage against him, he straddled her hips while catching the hand wielding Gambol Shroud to keep it in place. Her eyes, squinted and pained, would take in the manic look within his own eyes and the sadism within his smile as he held her.

"That's it?" He crowed. "Is this really the strongest that this pathetic assault has to offer?" He glared at the girl underneath him, watching as she struggled in vain against him. "For a supposed top dog, you bring so little to the table! It almost makes me want to cry, knowing how hard I thought this was going to be! But no matter." His grip tightened, gripping Blake's throat like a pincer. "Even if I didn't get the fight I wanted, I'll still treasure watching the light leave your eyes. Good night, you filthy animal!"

The only thing Blake could do in response was emit strangled yells and gurgles. Her vision was growing around the edges with each passing second. The pressure of his hand was threatening to crush her throat, increasing the pressure building up within her body. No matter how much she struggled, she couldn't throw him off of her and regain control of the situation. She felt a flicker of fear well up within her as the reality of her situation kicked in. She was going to get killed by this maniac, and Adam wouldn't be there to pull her out. It all seemed so hopeless.

That is, until she took note of the brown hair that hung around his shoulders.

In the heat of the moment, his ponytail had come undone to let his long hair sweep down, giving him a more unrestrained appearance. Upon first glance, it seemed like a rather pointless observation. But as she swept her gaze to the right, she noticed that she still had a hold of her cleaver sheath. With her body weakening due to lack of oxygen, it was becoming a weaker and weaker hold by the minute. What came to mind could be understood as nothing more than a desperation move. But as of this minute, she had little to no options left. If she didn't act now, he would finish her off.

Her eyes narrowed into a defiant glare, staring hard into his condescending gaze as he spoke. "It's such a shame, piss-eyes." He said, faking a tone of disappointment. "I never even got to learn your name."

Somehow, Blake managed to muster up enough strength to spit out the words, hoarse as they were.

"You want... my name...?"

Then, she released her hold on her sheath handle, pushed against the pressure of his arm with a violent jerk strong enough to give her arm enough leverage, grasped at a cluster of his hair and gave a vicious pull.

It worked. The spike of pain that shot through his scalp caused him to yell out in agony, shock and anger. Reflexively, he pulled himself off of her and released her from his vindictive grasp. As his hands let go of her wrist and throat, she greedily sucked in air back into her lungs. Her windpipe was burning and her head was spinning quite a bit, but she leaped to her feet with renewed invigoration. As he was trying to recover his bearings, she threw herself at him with her cleaver sheath prepared. She saw the blood drip down his face as it tilted to meet her, a frustrated snarl replaced the smile he had on earlier. She saw the murder in his eyes as he stretched his right arm out in an effort to grab her again.

It would be the last move he would make.

He was introduced to a new world of pain when her cleaver sliced through his arm at the socket. Shocked eyes drew themselves to the limb as it flew away from his body, flopping uselessly against the floor. She had struck so fast, he didn't even have time to prepare a scream of agony. His body would remain paralyzed by both his shock and the pain coursing through him as she pushed for another attack, shoving the length of the cleaver vertically through his chest. Once again, it had only taken two successive movements for her to render him helpless. But this time, there would be no surprise attack he would pull off. This time, there would only be one blood-soaked word.

"What..?"

"Blake Belladonna," The faunus hissed. "Is my name. And as far as you're concerned, it's going to be the last name you'll ever hear."

She ripped the sheath from his chest, allowing his body to fall against the cold floor. Once his back hit the metal, he became deathly still. His hair had fallen over his eyes, keeping her from seeing if they were closed or not. But she had little reason to believe he would just get up and attack again. Even if he could, the blow dealt to him would hinder any progress he could have made otherwise. He was done for.

"For the Fang." She said quietly, fixing the sheath on her back and turning away. She approached Gambol Shroud, which had been dragged along with her thanks to the ribbon linking it to her right arm. Upon nearing it, she reached down and scooped it up before reverting to its katana form. She would have to check it over after the mission was done with, knowing that the accidental roughhousing of the weapon might have damaged it.

As she sheathed the sword, her ears perked at the sound of choked gasping and struggling movement. She turned herself around to see Anthony trying to push himself onto his feet. He was on his knees and leaning on his arm, facing away from her and hiding the furious expression on his face. "A hair pull?" He growled out, his voice weakened by both pain and injury. "Of all the things that I could have been caught off-guard by, I get done in by my fucking hair being pulled? This has to be some sort of sick joke!"

Despite the stern glare she leveled at him, Blake couldn't help but smile a little at the morbid humor within his scenario. "You really should tie your ponytail better." She quipped, watching as he finally shoved himself to his knees. By this point, his torso and pants were stained a scarlet red. She was surprised he hadn't passed out from blood loss yet, a flicker of fascination crossing her face as he dragged his knees to face her.

"I am not going to die," He gasped out, giving her quite the murderous glare as he attempted to stand back up on his feet. Despite the anger within his voice, there was also a subtle lace of desperation and panic that could be picked up. "By the hands of a dog like you! I'd have all my fucking teeth pulled out one by one than admit defeat to a terrorist! Even if I have to do it with my teeth, I'm going to-!"

But before he could do anything, the doors that Blake came through swung open. Two pairs of eyes turned to Adam, who stormed into the car with his sword at the ready. His voice, collected as it ever was, carried a sense of urgency as it called out to his partner. "Blake!"

"Adam!" Blake gave a sigh of relief upon seeing him. She folded her arms across her chest, giving a gesturing nod to the wounded Anthony. "You needn't worry about the Trump Card. I just took care of him."

"You cocky bi-" Whatever the mercenary was about to say in response was cut off when his body gave out on him. He fell ungracefully on his stomach with a pained grunt, his chin being stained by the blood pool underneath him. The sight made Adam frown skeptically and his next choice of words come with dry sarcasm.

"Define "taking care of him", because it still looks like the worm is squirming to me."

Blake's own eyes looked at Anthony once more, and this time, she had to resist the urge to wince. He still had fire within those eyes of his as he struggled to push himself back up. But this time, he wouldn't get any farther than the raise of his head. The noises he was making sounded less like intimidating growls and more like agonized moans, clearly indicating the toll that his injuries and recent movements took on him. He looked like a dying animal at the end of its rope, and even considering the brutality he callously inflicted on her fellow faunus, she couldn't help but spare a glimpse of pity.

Adam, on the other hand, didn't seem very phased by it. "You never were good at confirming the kill." He chided calmly, stepping past her to stand in front of their foe's fallen form. "But I guess that doesn't matter now." Slowly, he lifted his sword over his head in order to deliver the final blow. "I'll take it from here."

And so, this was it. The same ones he had called filthy animals would be the ones to kill him. The fact that he was lying in a puddle of his own blood added to the growing weight of humiliation he was feeling. He hung his head down, not wanting to see the look in his killer's eyes before death came to him. "Get it over with, you horny fuck." He spat, along with a goblet of blood. "I don't want to spend more time with you diseased monkeys than I have to."

"Glad we understand each other." Adam said simply, tightening his grip on his sword and preparing to bring it down. "Say good ni-"

"Stop!"

All heads twisted to face several mercenaries, with Jesse at the head of the pack. They stopped at the head of the steps leading down to the center area, their rifles leveled at the two White Fang members. Jesse, the one who had yelled out in the first place, continued to shout out to them. "Step away from him or I will blast you to the other side of Vytal!"

Adam frowned in displeasure upon seeing the mercenaries, lowering his sword to his side as he faced them. "Sure you'll be able to follow up on that threat?" He asked mockingly. "We've slaughtered platoons of you already. It should be coming quite clear that you Lien-drinking parasites don't stand a chance against us."

"Kid!" Anthony croaked. "What the hell do you think you're doing? They'll rip you to pieces!"

"Idiot!" Jesse snapped, keeping his rail gun trained on Adam and Blake. "Don't try and make it sound like I'm some average Joe. If the idea of death deterred me, I would've never became a mercenary in the first place! Besides, you think we'd just sit and let you get murdered?" A small smirk graced his face. "You may be an asshole and you may be little more than a psycho. But you're still a comrade-in-arms. No one gets left behind on my watch!"

"Is that your final answer?" Adam asked, lightly pushing at the mask on his face. Slowly, he lifted his katana and pointed it at the group in a threatening manner. His partner moved to stand beside him, drawing out Gambol Shroud to ready at her side. In response, the mercenaries tightened their grips on their guns and readied their trigger fingers. It was a confrontation ready to explode, with only a critically wounded Anthony laying between the two sides.

But the next noise that resonated in the car wasn't gunfire. It wasn't steel cutting through flesh, blood splashes or death screams. It was a beep that came from presumably hidden loudspeakers within the car. It caught everyone by surprise, and the voice on the other end gained their undivided attention.

"Attention, all personnel! This is Schnee of the S.D.C. speaking." The voice of the boss himself rang out to their ears. "If you have made it this far, congratulations. Your service has been commendable and you have proven yourselves very capable bodyguards. I am not a man who would let such excellence go unrewarded, so I believe it in my best interest to give out a little more honesty."

"What the hell is he-?" Jesse muttered quietly, only to get cut off by the next series of words.

"The locked crates in the center of the train do not contain the Dust cargo you have concerned yourselves about. If you happened to have keys on your person and looked inside them as of this minute, you would find nothing but empty containers. Do not bother trying to look elsewhere, for there is no actual Dust shipment on this train."

Naturally, this earned rather shocked reactions and exclamations.

"Wait, what?" A bewildered Jesse lowered the rail gun and looked around, his heartbeat starting to pick up as he took in this revelation. "You mean to tell me this mission was a bust?"

"I lost an arm, got a hole turn through my chest for this job," Anthony hissed, his expression contorting into bitter rage. "And now I'm being told all of it was made up?" His hand tightened into a fist, and he wanted nothing more than to crush Schnee's throat at that moment. "What are you trying to pull here, you old bastard?"

"No." Blake's whisper matched the growing horror on her face. She looked at Adam, who was now hanging his head and gritting his teeth in his own rising rage. "Our brethren, all of those lives-"

"Lost for nothing." Adam finished, disgust in his voice. His free hand clenched into a fist so tight, his fingernails pierced the skin and drew blood. "It's no wonder there wasn't much of a defense on this damn train. We wasted our time and resources coming here!"

"There is, however, something else." Here was where Schnee's firm and formal voice gained a drop of amusement. "You see, I figured that a few Alpha of these heathens would come to investigate if I exaggerated the value of the supposed cargo. So, I laid down a present. At the moment that I finish speaking to you, this train will be derailed and become nothing more than a smoldering wreck. Even if any of you happen to miraculously survive it, I doubt you'll be found in the middle of nowhere by any recovery force. Well, at least, not any sane recovery force..."

Those were the words to drive in the nightmare within the minds of everyone there. They caused the gunmen to lower their weapons and turn their attention away from their appointed enemy, more alarmed by this new revelation than falling to their blades. Horrified looks fell on their face, and fearful mutters started to be heard from them. The only ones who remained silent were Jesse, who was out of his own horror, and the two White Fang members, who were controlling their own alarm quite well.

Anthony would be the most vocal about his objections. "No!" He gasped, trying to will his body to move. But by now, every possible motion was dulled by the weakening of his body. His limbs felt like lead weights, refusing to respond to his mental commands. But he still tried, for the panic was seeping in a lot more. "God damn it, I am not going to die like this!"

"We have to get out of here!" Blake said urgently, placing a firm hand on Adam's shoulder to get his attention. But despite the obvious direction it went, the mercenaries were quick to agree with her.

"Well, she's got the right idea!"

"Screw this, I'm out of here!"

"Later, dude!"

"What?" Their calls made Jesse snap out of his own shock as he saw that both sides were hastily evacuating the car. He quickly turned to the backs of his supposed mates, his tone both incredulous and angry. "Are you guys kidding me? One of ours is lying bleeding on the floor and you want to-"

"He's a goner!" One of the last mercenaries answered hastily as he shoved himself out the door. "Every man for himself!"

It was an absolutely disgusting sight. Jesse narrowed his eyes and clenched his teeth as he watched the last mercenary slip out the doors, presumably to a safer location. They were abandoning one of their own who was in need of their help to save their own hides, vainly or otherwise. It demonstrated just how accurate Anthony's earlier words to him were, and if it weren't for the current circumstances, he was certain the machete-wielding mercenary would have been crowing about how right he was. So lost in his fury, he almost didn't pick up Schnee's final words to the group.

"I hope all of you mutts enjoy your last pants, for this is where you will be put down. Farewell."

Then, a violent shuddering overtook the train car. The foundation quaked, causing Jesse to stumble uncontrollably. The shift in sound signaled that they were no longer riding on the tracks, but instead sliding through what seemed like sand. The car itself was beginning to tilt to the left, clearly signaling that it was close to toppling. His panicked eyes fell onto Anthony, who was unwillingly starting to slide in the direction of the tilt. Luckily for the both of them, the slope created was not yet that steep. Jesse could still maintain a somewhat stable stance, and Anthony's body could take a slow progression within its slide.

So, in the last moments that they had, Jesse dropped his gun, sprinted towards Anthony and fell on top of him just before the car tilted over. He shut his eyes, ignoring the curse that came from the wounded man as their bodies flew against the metallic walls. The last thing either of them would hear would be the screams of the other mercenaries and other train cars being crushed together.

Then, darkness.


	3. R for Rohan

**A/N: WARNING: This chapter in particular carries very dark themes and is definitely not for the faint of heart. Viewer discretion is advised.**

* * *

Hours.

For Rohan McDougal, it had felt like hours. In reality, only a few minutes had passed. But who would be able to perceive the time correctly when in so much pain? Who could discern just how many minutes, hours or even days passed by when in an extremely stressful situation? If there was someone who could, it surely wasn't him. He was barely aware of himself, all sensation lost to the feeling of agony. He was barely aware of the thick knives shoved deep into his back and shoulders, the straps securing him to that uncomfortable spot. He was barely aware of the figure behind the nearby panel and the subtle smile on his face as he worked the controls of his torture machine.

In those drawn-out minutes, he had been subject to constant and periodic electric shocks. The knives buried within his flesh had wires tied around their handles to a generator above, providing the connection between body and current. That body was bound to a table belly-first, stripped naked with only a particularly wide steel binding to cover his dignity. His arms were secured behind his back with wire sharp enough to dig into the skin if he moved too much. His long and raven hair was scattered in a fashion that covered a weary, tear-stained face. His blood covered the surface of the table to the point where it was still dripping down to the floor. His world was pain and humiliation, and there had been no logical or moral reason for it.

The man behind the panel would state otherwise.

"It didn't have to be this way." His voice came crisp and clear, with both condescension and conviction coming from his voice. "My orders were simple, weren't they? You were to clear out the complex and retrieve the package. That meant no one was meant to be alive. That's what "clearing out" a place usually results in, right?"

With a voice that seemed to drag against the walls of his windpipe, Rohan croaked back, "I... I did my best to follow your commands to the best of my ability. I destroyed the opposition and got the cargo you needed. I did what I was supposed to do, why am I being punished?!" With each word spoken, his words became more begging and distraught. But neither quality would reach his torturer, who was more than ready to batter down that defense.

"You're not listening. Have you forgotten that I am able to watch you with each and every move you make? There was a moment in that time period where I saw you pass by several prisoners on your way to the target item." Rohan's bloodshot eyes widened. "Yet, you didn't even bother to fire a single bullet in their direction. As a matter of fact, you shot off the locks and allowed them to make their way up to the surface. You let them go when I said to leave no survivors."

By now, the young man's heart was threatening to explode from the stress of the situation. He shut his eyes tight as if trying to shut out the situation entirely. But his mouth kept moving. "They were unarmed prisoners!" He insisted desperately. "They weren't even involved in the operation and they weren't in my way, I couldn't just-"

A click of a button was all it took to light up his senses and replace words with screams. Volts of electricity once again ran through his system, burning through his body and overwhelming his mind with pure pain. He involuntarily writhed and struggled in his bindings, the wire cuffs digging into his wrists. His scream was clawing at his aching throat even more, yet the currents would not allow him to keep it in. His muddled perception of time was further lost to the sensations, with the timespan of seconds turning into minutes. He continued to tremble even as the machine was switched off, the currents continuing to run through his flesh before slowly dying down. The vicious bite of his torturer's next words wouldn't help his state of mind.

"I am the master! I am to decide what you can and can not do! If I tell you to snap a child's neck, you snap its neck! If I tell you to throw yourself into a burning fire, you do so without question! If I order you to leave no survivors, you leave no! Fucking! Survivors!" The voice was thundering, making his prisoner whimper and attempt to curl into himself. So frightened was he that he didn't hear the footsteps signaling an approach. "You are my dog, and I am free to use you however I see fit. You don't get to decide who lives and who dies under my watch, and rest assured, you damn mutt, you are always under my watch. So when I give the order to dance, you dance!"

Without warning, he felt a hand clasp a fistful of his hair and yank his head up. Frightened gray eyes looked directly up into an icy blue left eye and a milky white right eye. Although they were directly face-to-face, the man didn't have his face so close that Rohan couldn't distinguish other features. There was the bald head, which was covered in a mixture of burn marks and bulging veins. The right side of his face was covered in grotesque scarring, making his visage look even more intimidating. He glared into his prey's eyes with such intensity, it probably would've eviscerated him if looks were capable of killing. Although there was a smile on his face and his tone had regressed to a seemingly inviting level, the rage couldn't have been any clearer.

"Do you understand?"

"Yes... yes, I do-"

"No, you don't."

Without warning, the scarred torturer slammed Rohan's face into the table and kept it there, ignoring the agonized groans coming from his muffled mouth. "If you did understand, you would never have defied my orders. You would have understood your place like a good little dog. No, you clearly are far from understanding just where exactly you are right now. So I think it's time for a little reeducation." With that foreboding statement, he roughly released Rohan's hair and stepped back to the accursed torture panel. His prisoner was left to nurse a broken and bleeding nose, cringing in pain as it brushed against the steel of the table. "I have an assignment for you."

Despite his fearful heart pounding in his chest and his suffering body, Rohan found the words to ask. "M...may I ask... what it is?"

"Yes." By this time, the torturer was behind the panel once again with his form enveloped in the shadows. "There is a village on the west edge of Patch Island they call Ironedge. It's guarded by a prevalent militia who's been guarding against constant attacks of Grimm Beowolves. You will head to the coast and head there by boat. When you get to the island, you'll have appropriate transport that will take you to Ironedge."

"And what am I expected to find there...?"

The smirk couldn't have been heard any clearer. "Nothing. At least when you're done with it, anyway."

It was here that Rohan realized just what the torturer meant by "reeducation". His face paled, and he almost let his protests slip out into the open. The torture he had endured was bad enough without his sentiments adding on to it. So he opted to bite his lip in begrudging resignation of what was asked of him. By the end of the day, there would be innocent blood spilled on his hands. By the end of the day, he knew that he was going to be known as nothing more than a serial killer. For his own good, he was going to damn himself to a life of an unwilling sociopath. Had it not been for the situation, he would've laughed at the irony.

"I take it from your silence that there aren't any objections?" The figure asked.

"N...no, master." The words made him sick to his stomach as they passed his lips, but he spoke them anyway. "I understand what is demanded of me. I shall go to Ironedge. I shall kill every man, every woman and every child that resides. When I leave that place, I shall leave it in a ball of fire. I am your weapon for use in whatever means you see fit."

This seemed to please his referred master, who echoed this with a short laugh. "Now that sounds like a pet who knows their place." He remarked, pressing another button on the panel. A loud clicking sound indicated the traps binding Rohan retracting into the table. The knives were pulled from the flesh, earning a soft moan. "You will be heading there in a few hours. Load up and put some clothes on, I don't want to have to look at your disgusting body more than I have to."

As Rohan struggled to push himself up off of the table, he heard the footsteps of his master approach him once again. Then, there was a loud clattering of something metallic dropped on the table beside him. The footsteps resumed afterward, fading to non-audibility as the imposing master left the room. The godly, merciless presence that permeated the area had vanished along with him, allowing for easier breathing room. He was free, for the moment.

With only himself in the room, he slowly turned his head to see what had been left behind.

It was his weapon of choice, a "gift" bestowed by his master. Right now, it was in its gun form: an Atchisson Assault Shotgun, or AA-12 as most would rather put it. It was covered in a sleek chrome metal that carried a subtle yet striking visage from the cold and dull gray of the room. On the middle of each side, the number "216" was engraved. There was a drum mag already locked into the slot – something which Rohan noted in particular. It was a rather simple weapon by itself. But in this period of time, he had grown a strange affection towards it. With the way he treated it, one would think he believed it to be his best friend. But that belief wouldn't have been too far from the truth, especially considering right now.

With a shaky hand, he grasped the grip of the gun as he slid off of the table. The cold sensation that shot up his legs as the soles of his feet touched the floor made him flinch. But it was nothing compared to the aches running through his body right now, courtesy of the holes in his back. Every movement sent a jolt of pain through his system, and he was tempted to stop moving entirely. But he managed to sink on his rear and lean against the table leg, holding the shotgun against his chest as if it was his child. He took in a shuddering breath, lifting his chin up and pressing the tip of the barrel against it. As his index finger shook on the trigger, he shut his eyes and let out a sobbing gasp.

He pulled.

_Click._

There was nothing but an empty noise. There was no shell to shatter his head like a watermelon, no explosive round to splatter the contents of his skull on the floor. The dull clicking sound was his only reward, and when he heard it, his body started to shake. This wasn't anything new; his master always gave him his gun with an empty cartridge, knowing that this was the first thing he would do when he got his hands on the weapon. He continued to do it, with each and every time ending with that same antagonizing click. There was some vain hope that eventually, there would be a bullet in the chamber that would erupt from the barrel and put him out of his misery. Up to this point, that desire of luck had never come to fruition.

_Click._

He continued to sob, his eyes shut to their limit and his finger continuing to work the trigger. By this point in time, he had run out of tears to shed due to wasting them in the torturous session he had went through. He wasn't meant to become a soldier, especially at his age. He was fifteen years old, meant to live life with carefree abandon and grow up as a normal member of society. But thanks to the machinations of that cruel man, he had become a weapon from the moment he had the mind and hands to wield one. He was a tool that would be used until broken, as decided by the fates themselves.

_Click._

He would continue to pull the trigger up to the very end of the hour, with only the constant clicks and his sobbing noises to keep him company.

* * *

"I wanna learn how to hunt, Daddy!"

This was the first thing that came out of eight-year-old Jennifer said to her father as he landed his final shot from the clip of his rifle into the bull's eye. This made the man turn around, regarding the young girl with slight surprise. "To hunt?" He repeated, blinking a few times. "Why?"

His grizzled brown eyes stared into the hazel of hers, and she regarded him with a bright smile. "Because it's cool!" She answered readily, earning his humored chuckle. She folded her hands behind her back and started lightly rocking from heel to toe as he turned towards her completely, lowering his rifle and crouching down to her level.

"You do realize hunting isn't as easy as it looks, right? It may look cool. But it takes strength and courage to do it, especially considering what you're hunting. Do you know what I'm hunting?"

Jennifer nodded, the smile not leaving her face. "The monsters of Grimm!"

"That's right. But we don't do it because it's cool." These particular words would make the smile regress a little bit. But she listened intently. "We do it to protect the people of this village, keep them safe. Sure, I may go out to hunt for a Beobear to bring back and cook for dinner or something like that. But that's only on occasion. Most of the time, I'm only shooting Grimm because they would hurt people otherwise."

She let out a light grunt and nearly fell backwards when he gave a gentle punch to her chest.

"If you wanna hunt Grimm in this village, you're gonna have to learn how to protect. With that being said, are you ready for that kind of responsibility?"

Although his words seemed stern, they actually weren't. Jennifer knew that, and his question only made her brighten up even more. "Mhm!" She nodded fervently, responding with zealous eagerness. "I wanna be a hero, just like you!"

Her words earned his laugh and a hand on the top of her head, her long black hair gently ruffled. "Sure, kid." He said. "When you actually get a little old enough to hold and shoot rifles, I'll start teaching you how to hunt, okay?"

This was the conversation between thirty-year old Glenn Shepherd and his daughter. Glenn was a head of Ironedge's militia, who was responsible for maintaining the guard around the village. The village itself was surrounded by the forest, which was thick with both plant life and various species of Grimm. Out of all of the monsters residing in the fortest, it was the Beowolves that were causing the most trouble for the militia. So far, the village had no clue as to what was causing the constant yet merciful assaults. But the militia had always proven to have the upper hand, cutting every wave down to the last Beta male. Even if Ironedge couldn't hit the source, it still maintained a relatively peaceful life.

In the next few minutes, all of that would change.

The talk between father and daughter would be interrupted when a walkie-talkie hooked onto Glenn's belt crackled on. "Captain Shepherd?" This is Sergeant Sheckley. Are you there? Over!"

Glenn silently cursed the sudden interruption. He took his hand off Jennifer's head and pulled the portable radio off his belt. He raised the receiver to mouth level and pressed the talk enabler in. "I read you, Sheckley. Is it another pack coming in?"

"No, there's..." Sheckley's voice paused for a moment, carrying hesitation and confusion caused by whatever the situation was. "There's no Beowolves this time. It's coming from the village gate."

"Then what is it?" Glenn held a sliver of annoyance in his tone, composed as it was. "Out with it, son!"

"It's a human, and from the looks of things, he's armed. Two perimeter guards are on their way to intercept him right now."

It was as peculiar as it was alarming. A human approaching what was supposed to be an isolated village? The presence of arnaments quickly gave the impression that he was a Hunter. What other person in their right mind would head through a forest surrounded by Grimm? It was somewhat reassuring, but it wasn't enough to completely pacify Glenn's concerns.

"Understood. If he seems too suspicious, go ahead and have him detained." He said, looking in the direction of the village gate location. "Otherwise, talk to him and try to get some information out of him. If he's a Hunter, we wanna know why he came from Signal to-"

He was cut off by two sets of sounds from the other end; three gunshots and a chain of screams from the nearby villagers who bore witness. His serious and collected expression turned to alarm and horror, especially when he heard Sheckley vocally express his own terror. "Oh Dust, he just opened fire! The guards just went down! All units converge at the main gate! A confirmed hostile is advancing on the village!"

Barely aware of Jennifer's wary expression, Glenn raised his voice to an authoritative level. "Maintain the line and do not hesitate to shoot on sight! Do not let him go into the-!"

But once again, he would be cut off by Sheckley's frantic shouting, which was nearly overwhelmed by an exchange of gunfire from presumably both intruder and guards. "He's passed the gate! Good Lord, the defenses are being squashed like cockroaches! Captain, you have to hurry, we can't hold out for much longer- oh, no..." Momentarily, his voice would quiet down in horrified contemplation, but would immediately raise up again in panic. "Is he- he's coming right for me! No! No! Please wait-!"

A loud gunshot would punctuate the end of his pleas, and then there was only static. Glenn was left to stare at the radio in a horrified silence, barely aware of Jennifer as she conveyed her fear of the situation. Her voice was quiet, but it snapped him out of his thoughts nonetheless. "Dad? Daddy?"

Abruptly, he turned to face her and knelt down to her level. He placed his hands on her tiny shoulders and gave her a stern look. "Honey, I want you to listen to me very carefully. Run back to the house, find yourself a good hiding place and don't come out for anyone. I'll only be gone for a little while, okay? I've just got to go take care of something."

"Is there a bad man coming, Daddy?" Jennifer whimpered.

"Yes, yes there is." He gave a fervent nod. "There is. I'm going to stop the bad man from reaching this part of town, but I need you to do what I say. Do you understand?"

She gave a nod of her own, her face still conveying worry. But at the very least, she trusted her father. "Mhm. I won't let you down, I promise."

A small amount of relief flashed through his eyes, and he leaned forward to give her a peck on the forehead before rising to a standing stance. "I know you won't." He said in approval, turning around and picking up his rifle. "Now, go on! Get going!" With that being said, he took off in the direction of the chaotic sounds. Jennifer's eyes stayed on his back the whole time until his figure disappeared, leaving her to stand alone.

After what seemed like forever, she turned around and started running. Her feet carried her all the way from the makeshift firing range to her home. The door was unlocked, so all she had to do was open it and step inside. Then, she locked the door behind her, ran up the stairs to her room and shut that door. Lastly, she opened up her closet, shut herself inside and curled into a ball. The set of clothing hung up and the mess clustered at the bottom made her nearly invisible. All she had to do was wait for her father to come back.

She would be in for a very long and agonizing wait.

An estimate of twenty-five minutes passed. In that time, she listened to the distant sounds of gunfire and the screams of both civilians and militia as they were gunned down. She quietly whimpered, placing her hands on her ears in an attempt to block out the disturbing noises. But she could still hear them in the faintest sense of sound. No matter how she tried, she couldn't block out the carnage.

At a certain point in time, she started talking to herself. "Daddy. Why aren't you back yet? You said you'd only be gone for a little while, so you should be here now. You said you'd take care of the bad man, but I still hear him. Please hurry." She shut her eyes, feeling slight trickles run down her cheeks. "Please don't leave me. I don't want to be alone. I don't want to be alone with the bad man."

Then, explosions. Jennifer's eyes shot open when she heard the first boom, her heart leaping into her throat when the house shook a little. The intervals between each explosion were slow, lasting up to one or two minutes. But with each boom becoming louder, it became clear that the chaos was slowly closing in on her location. Her mind started racing, torn as to what it should decide on. She wanted so desperately to stay and wait for Glenn to return. Logic, however, insisted that she flee her position and leave before the gunman found her.

A particularly loud explosion made up her mind right away. Knowing that she was about to disobey her father in a bad way, she burst out of the closet with distress. She ran to the window and pushed it open to reveal the nearby trees of the forest. To the left of her window was a gutter downspout that could be used to get to the lower level safely. She had used it plenty of times to escape the occasional chore, much to the chagrin of her parents. She never would've thought she'd be using it in this situation, to preserve her life.

Her timing couldn't have been better. As she was grasping the channel, she heard the front door slam against the walls as it was forcefully opened. With her heart rate at its minimum, she gripped the channel with her hands and feet before sliding down to the ground. Once her shoes hit the earth, she started running with all of her might. Her gaze was mostly focused downward, as she didn't want to see if the killer was chasing her or not. But she was very tempted to, for she could feel heat and hear crackles of flames from places they shouldn't have been in. Curiosity, as morbid and out of place as it was, urged her to take a look around. So once she was sure she was far enough away from the house, she stopped and raised her head up.

She instantly regretted it.

What once was a proud village was now the victim of a wildfire. Houses that stood tall were used as fuel for the high flames as they consumed everything in their path. Corpses of the fallen were scattered all around her. Some of them were torn to pieces, with nothing but fragments of a human body left behind. Some of them were mostly intact, with ghastly orifices having been opened up in parts varying from person to person. All of them painted the ground with a dark red, which was illuminated by the light of the flames. It was as if she had stepped straight into the pits of Hell itself, and suddenly, she realized just how alone she was.

Although the village gate was only a matter of feet away from her current location, she found herself paying much more attention to the horrifying surroundings. She wrapped her arms around herself and started shivering, the heat of the flames doing nothing to stop her shakes. She bit her lip, her eyes frantically searching for her guardian. "D-dad?" She yelled out, her voice shaking in her growing hysteria. "Dad! This isn't funny! I know you're out there somewhere! You have to be! The bad man couldn't have gotten you! You're a hero, and you always said heroes aren't supposed to-"

Then, she saw Glenn.

"-die...?!"

He was lying on his back with his gun a few inches from his hands. There was a total of three gruesome injuries on his person. Two of them had been inflicted on his kneecaps, which were completely blown off. The final one was at the neck, which was torn to the point that his head would've been hanging limply by a few strands of meat if he was stood up. He was staring up at the sky with a dim look in his eyes, all light having vanished several minutes ago. Seeing him in such a state caused her very world to crumble, and the effects of what happened here came crashing down full force on her. She completely forgot about her life-threatening situation, hurling towards his corpse with a heartbroken and heartbreaking cry.

"Dad!"

When she was close enough, she collapsed onto her knees and looked down on him. The tears were freely spilling down her cheeks now, unable to be held in any longer. She pressed her hands on his bloody chest, ignoring the fluid as it soaked her palms. "No, no, no, you can't!" She sobbed, rocking his body back and forth. "Please, get up! We already lost Mom to the Grimm, I don't want to lose you too! You can't do this to me! You can't leave me here, not like..." She stopped shaking him for a moment, hanging her head down in misery. "Not like this. Wake up... you have to wake up... Dad..."

So lost in her grief, Jennifer failed to hear the slow and steady footsteps coming up behind her. She started to rock Glenn back and forth again, only in a much more violent manner. The head that hung on so loosely followed the aggressive motions, the strands of flesh beginning to tear. She paid no heed to it, continuing her vain efforts to wake her father up.

"Dad."

The footsteps stopped.

"Why are you trying to leave, Dad?"

The barrel of a shotgun was raised and leveled towards the back of her head.

"Don't leave me, Dad!"

Glenn's head broke free of its restraints, rolling across a small incline in the ground.

"_Dad!_"

A finger tightened on the trigger.

"...don't you love me?"

A final sound of thunder, and Jennifer's mangled head was quick to join her father's as it rolled down the incline.

The killer lowered his shotgun to his side, staring blankly at the two corpses for a good moment. Like Glenn's, his eyes held no light within them. His gaze appeared to be focusing on the bodies, but his mind had gone somewhere else. His face expressed no emotion and was comparable to a blank slate even as the village burned down around him. Although every organ in his body was functioning properly, it might as well have been as dead as his victims were. The actions he had committed tonight would be burned into his mind for the rest of his life, damning him from here on out as a senseless murderer.

He was barely aware of the voice speaking out of his earpiece. "I know it seems painful for you now. But trust me when I say that you'll learn to appreciate what I've made you do here. Maybe in time, you'll even look back on this moment, take pleasure in it and laugh to your heart's content. I know I will."

His mouth moved automatically, his mind not even processing the words he spoke. "Yes, Master."

"You have transport waiting for you on the coast. Head back to HQ as soon as possible. I don't want want you to miss your reward."

The transmission cut off, and Rohan was left to stand alone in the destruction. Slowly, he creaked his head to look at the orange afternoon sky with those blank eyes of his. Slowly, his AA-12 slid from the grip of his fingers and clattered to the ground beside the dead. His fingers slowly curled up, his hands clenching into fists so tight that his palms started to bleed a little. He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath as if to calm himself. He held in that breath for a moment, until his lungs started to ache.

Out of all that had signaled the death of Ironedge, his scream would reach the heavens and beyond.

* * *

**A/N: ...oh, god. Out of anything I've written, I think that this has to be the darkest thing ever. I think I've just promised myself nightmares by just reading it over.**

**Rohan McDougal alludes to the fictional character "Pinocchio". Mirroring elements involve the creation of something other than human (with Pinocchio created as a puppet and Rohan "created" as a weapon), the desire to be something beyond that (with Pinocchio wanting to be a real boy and Rohan wanting a chance to truly live) and the need to fabricate (with Pinocchio telling lies for varying reasons and Rohan hiding behind the mask of an emotionless killer to keep his master entertained). Him using an AA-12 is a reference to the video game "Spec Ops: The Line" and one of its endings. If you haven't played it, I won't spoil anything for you, don't worry.**

**So... that's all I got for now. Reviews are greatly encouraged, and constructive criticism is welcomed. Thank you, readers, for sticking by and bearing with me thus far. I hope not to disappoint you in the chapters ahead. Until next time!**


	4. E for Elisha

The home of Elisha Gould may not have been influenced by modern-time hands. But it certainly had its charm.

It was a house of traditional make and foundation. It was situated high above the ground on the side of a wooded mountain, taking up a small space on the gigantic landform. There was a set of stairs leading up to its porch that were long enough to discourage those who weren't willing to sweat going up that far. If that wasn't enough to discourage people from coming there, there was also the presence of wildlife – specifically, the various species of Grimm lurking about. Those two traits were enough to convince anyone that the owner of the house was more interested in solitude more than socialization.

However, there were plenty of people who visited it – just not the average Joe from the streets. This was the residence of the Savage, a Faunus clan known for their teachings in the art of swordsmanship. Despite the anti-Faunus sentiments going around, the Savage were highly known for their personal fighting style called the Crimson Lotus. This fighting style was a highly feared one, and skilled practitioners that used it were a nightmare against their opponents. Masters of it rivaled even the famous Hunters and Huntresses – something that earned them respect, fear and hatred. For a good while, they were second to the White Fang in terms of hot topics concerning the Faunus.

Then, something happened. One day, the clan was reported to have been broken up and disappeared off of the face of Remnant. Many rumors circulated around their vanishing act. Some say that they were torn apart by an inner power struggle. Others say that they had been hunted down and killed off by a rival faction, with fingers pointed at the White Fang. Despite the given reasons indicating the Savage's destruction, there was no evidence given that they had been attacked in any given way. Still, it was the primary reason that the public went by, as they were unable to rationalize the bizarre nature of the situation with any other. The only physical thing they left behind was ir homes, whose destiny relied on the people who cared enough. Some fell victim to the elements of nature. Others, however, were preserved to keep the legacy alive. The house on the mountainside was one of the fortunate relics that had been saved, still alive and kicking up to the present day.

Although the background of the house drew plenty of visitors, it wasn't the main reason why people came up to Elisha's doorstep. It was the young man himself that they were interested in. He wasn't just any normal resident, but a prodigy within the criminal underground. In contrast to what some may believe, he was no terrorist, crime boss or even a low-life scum bag. He was a "cleaner", someone who was hired to eliminate high-value targets without causing too much of a stir. More than often, the ones in need required a fighting force too small to use large measures against, yet too powerful for them to counter effectively. He happened to have a combat expertise that suited such conditions, and he wasn't shy about demonstrating this trait time and time again. Thanks to those needing his hand, destroying rival criminal organizations and murdering crime bosses became his way of living. It was most certainly a dangerous way of making ends meet, that was for certain. But he had come to appreciate and vastly enjoy his line of work as well as the danger that came along with it.

Right now, he was enjoying the simpler things in life. In the center of the area designated as the living room, he was sitting on his legs and a mat with his hands on his knees in a meditative stance. His black hair, tied in a back-of-the-head ponytail, blew in the breeze that crept its way through the windows. Black eyes were closed off to the world, allowing his mind to drift within the peace of its subconscious. In front of him was a cup of green tea, its contents a little below the halfway mark. Another cup of green tea sat in front of another mat just out of Elisha's personal bubble. It was the standard way he greeted his visitors, to make them more comfortable while they conversed. It was at the present time that they usually made their appearance, which was why Elisha was situated here.

This time, the visitor would deviate from the expectations he had come to embrace.

There was a knock on the door which earned the attention of both him and another who was sleeping in the corner – an arctic fox, to be precise. That other would perk its head and ears up, its brown eyes staring at the door with full attention. It got up on all four of its feet and shook its white fur before taking a few steps towards the door. It tilted its head when it heard four more knocks on the door, which caused Elisha to respond. "Who's there?" He called out.

"Ah! Um," A feminine, young and considerably kiddish voice came back from the other side. From the sounds of things, it seemed like whoever was on his porch had been caught off guard by his call. "It's Ruby! I-I mean, I'm Ruby! Ruby Rose! You may not know me, but- of course, you wouldn't know me, I'm just a stranger that's coming up to you for some favor! Who would you be to know who I am, when I don't even know you! Well, I kinda know you from what I've heard, but that's just about it-"

The nervous rambling caused Elisha to raise an eyebrow, an amused smile stretching across his face and a soft chuckle escaping past his lips. Many of his clients that had come up were very confident and professional if not arrogant and condescending. But this one, if he could call her one, might as well have been a simple fan girl attempting to get his autograph. He knew better than to assume that was the case, however. For all he knew, the person in question simply could've been putting on a front to fool people. So he pushed the amusement out of his grin and lowered his eyebrow back down, interrupting her tirade with a polite yet teasing tone of voice. "Sounds like quite the talker at my doorstep, doesn't it?"

"I...I'm sorry!" The embarrassment in hers couldn't have been clearer to his ears. "I didn't mean to... I think I'll just—"

"If conversation is what's on your mind right now, then why don't you come in?" He encouraged, cutting her before she could finish her apology. "I'm sure that with the cold settling in, the last thing you prefer over being inside a nice and warm house is to stand outside of it. The door's unlocked."

After a short period of silence, there was a heavy sigh of relief. The sliding door was moved open to reveal the figure in question, and when Elisha laid eyes on her, his smile was momentarily wiped away. What he saw was a girl a few years younger than himself, carrying a rather timid manner on both facial expression and physical posture. She wore a black blouse and a red-trimmed skirt, matching the colors of her eyes. Grey eyes regarded him with a sheepish gaze, with a smile that mirrored such anxiety. Her waist was what drew his attention the most, carrying a belt with bullet cartridges, a magazine pouch and what looked like a sizable cannon jutting out from the back. This combination of a visage was almost comical to see. In any case, he was right to not judge her based on her voice.

As she shut the door behind her, Ruby looked at the house owner more carefully. "Wow." She said quietly with a hint of awe. "I always thought you would've been a bit older." She slowly drank in his appearance as she said this. He wore a gray tunic with white trimmings and a thin black vest over it, cotton white pants and dark brown combat boots with black bracers enveloping the leg extensions. Secured to his waist was his own personal weapon of choice: a sheathed katana with a white scabbard and hilt. Overall, he looked like some sort of monk. It would have certainly fooled anyone if his head was shaved.

Her remark earned his amused chuckle. "I get that comment quite a lot from other people I've worked with." He said, raising a hand to gesture to the other mat. "Feel free to take a seat, would you?" He observed as she approached the empty mat. She looked him over briefly once more before lowering herself down, sitting on her legs to match his position. Although she was doing her best not to show it, he could tell that she was at least a little uncomfortable with it. It was the state of a foreigner trying to appease the locals by mending to their ways. If the girl wanted to do just that, who was Elisha to stop her?

"You don't look like you're from around here, Miss Rose." He commented, giving a slight nod towards the cup of green tea in front of her to draw her attention to it. "I take it you've traveled a long way to come here."

"Yeah." Although the nervousness faded only a little, it was enough for a genuine amount of pride to come into her voice. "I have, haven't I?" She reached out to grab the cup with both hands, raising the edge to her lips and taking a sip. Her tongue tasted a temperature below the pleasurable warmth she had been expecting, and she let out a noise of displeasure as she pulled the cup away from her mouth. It caused Elisha to raise a questioning eyebrow.

"Not to your liking, I assume?"

"It's too cold." She complained, setting the cup back down in front of her. "Tastes like it's been out for a while." After a few seconds for the words to sink in, she realized that what she said may have been a bit too insensitive. "Not that it's terrible, it's just-"

"No need for apology, Rose." Elisha interrupted her tirade before it could begin, giving a smile of reassurance. "It actually has been a while since it was first set there. Slide it over here, would you?"

Ruby wordlessly obliged, giving her cup a gentle shove to slide it to its destination. He picked it up with one hand, studying it for a moment. Ruby's eyes watched him curiously, and she wondered just what exactly he was up to. She perked when he hovered his free hand over the top of the cup and closed his eyes for a moment in concentration. After a few seconds, he opened his eyes back up and lowered the cup to slide back towards its original user. She looked at it, noticing that this time there was slight steam coming from the liquid. It caused her to raise an eyebrow at him, and he responded with an encouraging gesture of the hand.

"Go on. Try it now."

After briefly regarding it with a tentative gaze, Ruby once again scooped the cup up into her hands. She repeated her earlier motions, raising the edge to her lips and taking a sip. This time, she could feel the warmth on her tongue. It encouraged her to actually take a good drink, the flavor of the herbal leaves welcomed into her mouth. She set it down with a satisfied sigh. "Not as good as the sweet kind, but still! Did you make it?"

"Indeed I did." Elisha answered, his tone slightly prideful and pleased upon hearing the vocal approval of the beverage. "I get to travel a lot, and learning about the brews just so happens to be a side effect. Always thought about being a bartender if I ever got tired of this particular hobby." As he spoke, he pulled his legs out from underneath him and shifted into an Indian-style sitting position. "As for you," He glanced at the cannon on her back. "It seems you've taken up just as much of an interesting life as I have. I take it you're a Huntress?"

She shook her head, her words carrying a lot of longing. "No, not yet. Right now, I'm just a student of Signal Academy. But," Her eyes flashed with hopefulness. "I'm hoping to get into Beacon Academy after I graduate, though! When I come out as a Huntress, I'm gonna be all-" She stopped her words and, much to Elisha's surprise, flailed her arms around in mock karate poses while making rather ridiculous noises. It made Elisha laugh a little, especially when she came out of her poses with her arms spread out as if asking "Am I right?"

"Quite a big goal you strive for, I have to say." He remarked. "It doesn't take anyone to become a guardian against the creatures of Grimm. But you seem to be rather enthusiastic and spirited about it. I'm sure that in two years, you'll be carving your way through history."

"Are you a Hunter?" Ruby asked suddenly, lowering her hands and giving Elisha a questioning look. "I mean, from what you did with the tea, it looked like you used some sort of Semblance. What was that, by the way?"

At first, he appeared to be caught off-guard by the question. But his surprise only lasted for a few seconds before he found an answer. "Oh, that? You'd be right to assume that was a Semblance. Mine in particular is "Soul", and my subsequent abilities focus on the manipulation of my soul and limited manipulation of the souls of others. For the tea," He made a light finger point to her cup. "I simply shook up its soul a little to make it warmer."

This gained a perplexed look from the Signal Academy student. "I... didn't know drinks had souls. Do they, really?"

"Depends on how close they are to the nature they're derived from." Elisha explained. "Almost everything has a soul inside of it, whether it be people, animals or plants. Generally, anything that's alived or produced from the living to some extent falls under such a category."

It was here that the presence of the white fox made itself known to Ruby. She saw it out of her eye's corner as it walked over to her. At first, she eyed it with a slight wariness. But that was quick to change when it leaned its head in and sniffed at her. Her wariness changed to curiosity, and she found herself reaching out to pet it on the head. A pleased smile came across her face when it laid down beside her, allowing her to ruffle its fur. As she lowered her hand to scratch behind its ear, she looked back over at Elisha with eagerness to hear more. "Where'd you learn it from?" She asked. "That sounds like a pretty cool thing to have."

Elisha briefly closed his eyes and tossed one hand up in a subtle shrugging motion. "I can tell you where I didn't learn it from." He replied. "And that's from any existing combat school. My father was a former Hunter who retired recently. As a child, I happened to be interested in the art of combat thanks to him informing me about the missions he went on. He was ever so kind to teach me, and I've used the skills he passed on to good benefit. He left behind a legacy... or at least he will, once I'm done making my mark on history." He punctuated this with a lift and a sip from his cup, letting a brief silence sweep the room. By now, Ruby had stopped petting the fox and stared at him with attentive intrigue.

The silence would be broken when Elisha set his cup back down and asked, "Before we go too far into this, might I ask why you've come here? I'm sure that you didn't go through all this trouble just to have a conversation with me, of all people."

It was as if Ruby suddenly remembered she was here for a request. Her face gained an expression of shock followed by embarrassment, and she jerked her head down in apology. "Oh Dust, I forot about that! I'm so sorry, I've been wasting your-"

"Waste?" Once again, Elisha stopped her from going any further. "I've never had such a casual conversation with a client before, and the experience is rather refreshing to be honest. It wasn't as if I was planning on going anywhere beforehand." This encouraged Ruby to raise her head back up, although hesitantly. "So, go on. What's your request?"

"Well," The girl began, twiddling her fingers nervously. "I was planning on visiting on Cliffside Altar a few miles away from here, but the path there's infested with Beowolves. I was originally planning to go alone, but now that I think about it, I'm probably going to need an escort. I heard people talking about you in passing, so I asked questions, they gave me your location and..." She gave a sheepish shrug. "Well, here I am!"

Elisha gave a raise of the eyebrow and a contemplating hum. The smile faded. "You came here assuming that I would willingly escort you through a cold, Beowolf-infested forest? All for the sake of visiting some grave on top of a cliff?" The tone of voice was quick to convince Ruby that he wanted nothing to do with the request. She winced, and the first thing that came to mind was an apology. But that was wiped away when he changed his tune, the smile returning and a twinkle flashing through his eyes. "You came to the right individual, then!"

Naturally, Ruby's face lit up like a Christmas tree when she heard those words. She had to restrain the urge to appear in front of him and give him a big old bear hug, choosing instead to listen to him as he continued speaking. "While normally I would ask for specific details about the request, payment you're willing to offer and possible catches should I accept, that won't be necessary here. I've often trekked the forests near the Cliffside Altar for exercise, so I can guess as to what it's like. As for payment, this request will be free of charge."

"Wh-what?" The mention of the request being free hit Ruby like a freight train. She looked at Elisha in bewilderment, raising her hands in a baffled gesture. "Why? I couldn't possibly-!"

"But you can." Elisha insisted. "You wouldn't have come up all this way for a grave if it didn't mean anything to you. I can't willingly bring myself to take money from such a sentimental situation like this. Besides, I believe that the presence of the Beowolves are payment enough."

"What do you mean?" Ruby asked with a bit of confusion. "Isn't that going to be a problem?"

This was where Elisha's smile turned into a smug smirk. "As I've said before, I go to that part of the woods for exercise."

After pausing to drink down the last of his cup's contents, he brought himself up off the floor. It was here that Ruby could see the full design of his sheath; while the overall shape and design was close enough to a regular scabbard, there were fxed components and parts at the center of the sword-sheath combination. Ruby recognized them as parts of a rifle, her eyes shimmering with childish delight. Luckily, Elisha stopped her before she could fall completely to her attraction.

"When do you plan on setting off?"

Once again, Ruby found herself twiddling her fingers in nervousness. "Well, I was thinking of waiting until early nightfall to head out. Until then, I need to find a hotel or something to stay in. Would you happen to know where a nearby one could be?"

Elisha's grin gained a more polite tune, and he gestured to the room around them. "This could be one, if you're willing to see it that way."

"Wha-" It didn't take long for Ruby to figure out what he meant by that. She shook her head fervently, rising to stand up and raising her hands in front of her. "Wait a minute, the request being free of charge is one thing, but now you're just pushing it!"

"Oh, don't worry about it, child!" Elisha said dismissively with a roll of the eyes. "This house was meant to hold a small family, after all. One lone soul for a few hours isn't going to make that much of a difference." He folded his arms across his chest. "I won't take no for an answer."

Slowly, Ruby's expressive protest was pushed away. She fell silent, looking at Elisha with a conflicted countenance. She lowered her head for a moment, taking in a deep breath as if to steady herself. Her sudden shift in boddy language caused Elisha to look on in slight bemusement and concern.

"Rose, are you-"

This time, he would be the one cut off when Ruby's form flew into him. She wrapped her arms around him and gave him a squeeze, earning a surprised grunt. "Thank you so much for doing this." She whispered, her voice expressing just how grateful she was for the leniency. "You have no idea what this means to me."

He smiled gently, wrapping his own arms around her and giving her a few pats on the back. "Who would I be to abandon a good soul in need? It's just what I do." When she parted away from him, he pointed a thumb to a doorway leading to other parts of the home. "While you're here, would you like to have a tour of the place? Figured that with all its background, it'd at least give you some entertainment."

"Sure." Ruby gave a shrug and a perky smile. "Why not?" She moved to follow him through the doorway, beginning what would be a lengthy conversation with a single question. "So, this place used to be owned by members of the Savage clan?"

"Indeed it was! It was built back when..."

* * *

"...and that's how I came across this lovely weapon!" Elisha finished, emphasizing with a gloved hand's gentle pat of his rifle-scabbard hybrid. "And might I tell you that this is the best find I've ever obtained?"

"You don't need to tell me!" A hooded Ruby Rose said eagerly, her eyes regarding the weapon with a zealous enthusiasm. "That's a rifle-sword hybrid, right? How does it work?"

It was the early stages of nightfall, and the two temporary partners had set out to their destination. Elisha had covered his clothes with appropriate winter gear; a white jacket and cotton pants. A black half mask enveloped his nose, mouth and neck area while sleek goggles protected his eyes from the blowing winds. It was quite a contrast to Ruby, who had only pulled her hood over her head for the sake of winter protection. However, she didn't act too affected by the below-average temperature. To be fair, it wasn't too chilly – something Elisha was grateful for. Heavy gear would've just restricted him in combat.

Ruby's inquiry caused him to feel a bit prideful. "You are fortunate to have such a truthful eye, Rose." He said, turning to let her eye the weapon in delight. "This is indeed a rifle-sword combination. While in sword and scabbard form, it has a trigger that fires the sword out at a heightened velocity. With it, I can knock targets back a considerable distance, perform exceptionally quick iaido strikes and even use the air generated by my swing as a weapon. Personally, I prefer this over its gun form, although both are rather useful."

He pulled the sheathed sword off and gave it a few flourishing flips. With each flip, the rifle components unfolded and rearranged themselves into a form that made the whole thing more recognizable as a rifle. When he stopped spinning, Ruby would lay eyes upon a sniper rifle taking the place of the traditional weapon. He held it out for her to see. "High-impact, incendiary rounds. Any target careless enough to challenge it without armor can be dispatched with a single direct hit. The scope has a rather low zoom capability in comparison to other weapons of the same type, so it's less useful at long ranges than mid to close. Still, it's pretty useful for support and suppression." Following this explanation, he playfully leveled the barrel at Ruby and aligned his sights with her heart. This snapped her out of her trance, and she was quick to give him a shocked look.

"Ey!"

"Bang!" After the pretend motion of shooting his gun, Elisha chuckled a little when he saw Ruby dramatically clutch the spot where he "shot" her. With a sharp gasp and a few steps back for extra drama, she fell back against the snowy ground and lay still. Her performance made Elisha shake his head in humor as he spun the weapon back to its previous form.

"A little less clean than that." He remarked, walking over to her side and extending an offering hand. "But still the same outcome." She opened her eyes and reached out to grasp it, allowing him to pull her back on her feet. "What about your weapon? What are its functions and capabilities?"

"Glad you asked!" Beaming proudly, Ruby removed the cannon from her back and unfolded it to reveal the form of a scythe. It made Elisha take a step back in surprise. "This beauty acts as both a scythe and a high-impact sniper rifle, too. When in its scythe form, I can use the recoil to boost myself over distance and increase the power of my swings. She's the best partner I could ever have." She took a moment to give her weapon an affectionate hug. "Crescent Rose is her name!"

Now it was Elisha's turn to stare in fascination. He put a hand on his chin and leaned in when Ruby held it out for a better view. "Unreal..." He murmured. "Scythe wielders are few and far between, with known ones recognized as fearsome opponents. With a weapon like that, a professional would cause so much havoc on the battlefield." His words of praise made her smile slightly bashful.

"Well, I'm definitely no pro yet. But I'm sure that once I'm done, I'll be-"

The sound of growling stopped her sentence short. The two froze in their stances, their bodies tensing as their ears picked up the noise. It came from everywhere and in multitudes, indicating just as much threats. As the pair moved their eyes toward the sources, they saw a large amount of Beowolves moving to surround them. From that angle, it was hard to tell just how many were converging on their position. But it was safe to say that they had probably stirred up a hornet's nest. Their bodies naturally settled into their respective ready positions, their eyes focused away from one another and onto their targets.

It was here that one would notice the contrast between the two. While Ruby was clearly on her guard with her "game face" on and her scythe prepared to swing, Elisha had a more relaxed stance. He was standing straight with his weapon hooked to his waist, observing his targets with an eerily serene gaze. He pulled down the half mask, revealing a smile that was very out of place with the situation. It did not show sadism or a thick lust for blood. It did not show arrogance or anticipation of a victory. If it could be compared to anything, it would bear a striking resemblance to the pleasant smile he had when he first spoke to Ruby. It would only be matched by the tone of his voice when he addressed his partner.

"You take one half, I take the other?"

A smug grin slowly crossed Ruby's face, and she gripped her scythe tightly. "Try to keep up, old man."

With that being said, the two split away from each other and threw themselves at their respective half of Beowolves. While Ruby used a burst from her scythe in order to reach her targets, all it took was a single leap for Elisha to send him ripping towards his. The creatures tensed up in anticipation, their mouths opening in snarls and their claws ready to tear through the flesh of the boy and girl. But they would soon find that this particular pair would be far from the hapless prey they had gotten used to hunting. As a matter of fact, they would experience the feeling of just what it was like to be prey.

These discoveries would be emphasized when Elisha's sword sliced through his first target's head from the mouth horizontal, and Ruby's scythe bifurcated her own.

The dance began.

As soon as he finished cleaving through his first target, Elisha whirled around to meet another Beowolf and ducked a wide swing from one of its claws. He twisted his wrists, raising the blade up and slicing through the arm before bringing it back down and chopping the creature in two halves. Another one came up in an attempt to attack him from behind, only to be divided by the waist when Elisha spun around to counter. A second slash cut cleanly through the neck in a swift decapitation that temporarily kept the head on its shoulders. With a jump, Elisha twisted his body around and let his leg fly to send the loose head off like a cannonball. The makeshift projectile was launched, carrying enough force to cause a chain reaction when it slammed into the heads of other Beowolves. More heads flew from their perches, and in a few seconds, several Beowolves had been wiped out from existence. It was killing efficiency at its finest and coldest.

With his area temporarily holding a bit of free space, Elisha slung the blood off of his sword and looked over in Ruby's direction. Once again, he found himself staring in awe. She was moving as quickly and with as much agility as he had, if not greater. Her scythe was swung with unrestrained aggression, tearing through the ranks of the Beowolves as easily as a knife cut through butter. The sound combination of metal tearing through Grimm flesh and spent rounds falling to the ground produced a melody that his ears had grown an addiction to. In addition, her hood had been blown off to expose her short yet flowing hair as it danced along with her body movements. A chill raced down his body as he watched her fight, his shudder emphasized by the shivering exhale of his breath. A smile crawled onto his face once again.

"Beautiful."

It was here that another Beowolf attempted to attack the inattentive Elisha from behind. It let out a snarl as it raised its claws to cut down the man who had slaughtered its brethren. But regardless of appearances, Elisha had not let down his guard in the slightest. He twisted around, his blade carving through the hind legs of the monster. Its snarls were quickly replaced by pained yelps as it fell on its back, struggling to get back up. Elisha, meanwhile, would balance his sword on his shoulder as he approached the wounded animal. That damning smile never left his face as stopped to stand beside it, raising his boot to press down on its throat. His voice was deceptively soft and pleasant, almost as if he was lulling a child to sleep with the next words he would speak.

"Sweet dreams."

His boot brought down a violent increase of pressure on his quarry's neck. He was awarded with a sickening snap, and the Beowulf went still. His eyes drifted towards the rest of them, and his hands readied his weapon once more.

Ruby's own fighting style let out a great deal of expression only equal to the amount of destruction she was causing. Her malignant grace in conjunction with her use of the Grim Reaper's trademark made her a storm coming down on their numbers. She would duck under a Beowolf's legs and impale her scythe in its stomach, using momentum to ride in a back flip. The scythe dragged through its target's flesh, ripping the animal in half as she completed her acrobatic maneuver. A recoil-boosted 360-degree swing wiped out four more Beowolves as they attempted to surround her. When they were down, she spun and twisted both scythe and body before striking down a fifth. The blade violently buried itself in the animal's head so deeply that it couldn't simply get tugged out again. A grimace came across Ruby's face as she tugged on it in an attempt to free her weapon.

But as she heard more Beowolves close in on her, she knew that wasn't going to happen any time soon at the rate she was going. So she decided to improvise.

She turned towards the approaching creatures and pulled Crescent Rose's trigger, causing the blade to carry the body along with it in an overhead swing. It swung down like a club, crashing into an unfortunate target's head and crushing it into the ground. Ruby felt the weapon loosen up with the force of impact as she lifted and swung again, performing a horizontal strike that knocked back several more targets. With a grit of her teeth, an effort-laced yell and a pull of the trigger, she hurled the carcass off of her blade and sent it careening into a group of Beowolves. Her actions had effectively disoriented her assailants, leaving them completely open for her next move.

Lining the top of Crescent Rose like a gun, she started pulling the trigger and laying down suppressive fire. Her shots were aligned with incredible accuracy, and her bullets tore large chunks of the flesh off her victims. Many of them fell before they could recover, and the ones that didn't couldn't attack quickly enough before they met their own grisly demise. She was cutting them down so easily, thinning their numbers within the time span of a minute. With the swordsman on her side, it was only a matter of time until the Grimm threat was completely taken of.

How much time had yet to be deduced, however.

A stray Beowolf had managed to sneak up on her while she was suppressing their numbers. Her eyes widened as she felt a sudden disturbance behind her, and she abruptly twisted herself to face the creature. But she had only enough time to raise her weapon and block the claw that would've caused some serious damage otherwise. Regardless, the force of the attack sent her off of the ground and a considerable distance away from her location. She managed to quickly recover, performing a flip and twist to land on her feet in a stable stance. Her eyes fixed themselves on the remaining Beowolves on her side. Although their numbers were exhausted considerably, there were still plenty to worry about.

The sound of boots landing behind her almost made her turn to face the source. It was Elisha, having back flipped to retreat from his own advancing enemy and to her side. He raised his blade in a preparatory but comfortable stance, speaking with a conversational tone to Ruby. "This particular bunch would've certainly been difficult to deal with had I been alone. Wouldn't you agree?"

Although he wouldn't directly see it, she gave an affirmative nod. "There's only a few more to clear out." She said with fierce determination, glaring at the creatures that were slowly closing in. "We can do this!"

"I have an idea that may end this quickly." Elisha said, causing her to look over her shoulder at him. He sheathed his sword and removed the full scabbard from his waist, flipping the weapon to convert it into its sniper rifle form. "I can keep myself in the air for a good while of time. If you believe you can continue your fight from the ground, I'll cover you. If all goes to plan, we'll be able to finish this with no problems. Are you ready?"

She grinned confidently. "I was born ready. Let's do this!"

That was all Elisha needed as a signal to perform a leap into the air. But it wasn't just any simple jump. It was a leap that defied the laws of gravity, carrying him high into the air and over the heads of both ally and enemy. His rifle was readied, his eye looking down the scope as he lined up the barrel with his targets. Already, he could see Ruby charging and once again tearing her way through their ranks. Another chill of excitement raced down his spinal chord, but he knew that he had to keep his cool. If they wanted the impromptu plan to work, both combatants would have to do their part in exceptional fashion.

So with a smile, he started pulling the trigger.

Shots reigned down on the Beowolves that had targeted Ruby, causing even more destruction to their numbers. One was torn in two from the head down. Another had its head shattered like a melon. Several more were deprived of their limbs, making it easier for the scythe-wielding girl to cut them down. Each shot produced both a bloody and a fiery end for their targets, reinforcing what Elisha had said earlier to Ruby about the potency of his weapon.

Occasionally, Elisha would have to stop firing if he found himself descending too low to the ground. When that happened, he performed another defiance of gravity's law; he would stop as if landing on the ground before launching himself high again in a mid-air jump, allowing him to once again provide overwatch. He had to perform this several times, and combined with the repetitive task of exhausting and reloading clips, he found himself tiring. Had it not been for the chilly temperatures, he would've been considerably sweating thanks to the workout.

Then, it was over. With its head flying off of its perch, the last Beowolf fell to the ground. All fell silent, with only the sounds of Ruby's weapon reversion and Elisha's landing to break it. The swordsman was breathing a bit heavily as he reverted his own weapon back to its regular form, returning it to its rightful place at his waist. As he lowered one hand to his side and rested the other on his hilt, he took a moment to survey their work. What once was a pure white ground was now stained with red fluid and mutilated Grimm corpses. His smile expressed the extent of his satisfaction with it all, with his soft laugh serving as emphasis. He closed his eyes and spread his arms out, savoring the scent of blood and chill of the breeze. "No matter how many times it happens," He whispered. "The result is always the same. Always..."

"You really like to hunt Grimm, don't you?"

He lowered his arms and looked over his shoulder at Ruby when she spoke up. She approached him with a lopsided smile, appearing to be nonchalant about the whole thing. But apparently she had heard his whisper, for he could see the slightest of unease in her stance and expression. So in response, he turned around so that she would see the disarming and pleasant smile. "Is it wrong to enjoy your career? At the rate you're going, you might end up doing a lot more than I ever could here."

This seemed to dispel the faint aura of wariness, causing her to grin sheepishly and scratch her cheek with a lone finger. "Yeah. I guess you've got a point there." She admitted with a chuckle. "I'm not exactly the most subtle of people when it comes to this kind of stuff, either... at least, according to my sis." She lowered her hand, looking at him curiously. "That being said, is that payment enough?"

"Oh, I believe so." Giving a casual nod, Elisha began to walk past Ruby. But as he passed by her, he raised a hand to give a few pats on the shoulder. "Now, let's get going. The grave site shouldn't be too far away now..."

* * *

By the time the two had reached their destination, the wind had started to pick up. Gusts became strong enough for the two to have to slow down to keep from being blinded by the chilly air. Elisha had secured his half mask back to its original position while Ruby had pulled the hood of her cloak back over her head. Still, it did nothing to stop them from reaching the altar. It would take more than a few wind gusts to deter them, with the confrontation with the Beowolves evidencing that fact.

When they entered the grave site, they stopped to take in the environment. They stood a few meters from the actual grave itself, which was surrounded by a massive clearing of ground. The empty space between them and where the deceased lay and the untouched snow that covered the ground made it seem like they were walking on sacred ground. For Ruby, that might as well have been the case; while Elisha seemed more relaxed approaching it, she had lost a great deal of the perkiness she had carried with her throughout their journey. At this point, he figured that he would have to leave her to his devices sooner or later. But that didn't stop him from making at least a little conversation.

"The Cliffside Altar." He said softly, causing her to turn her gaze to him. "One of the most beautiful places I could ever allow myself to lay eyes on. The value would be subtly placed and difficult to see for any common passerby. But to the more poetic individual, it gives off a sense of holiness and a strong spiritual presence." He looked over at her, managing a small smile despite her not being able to see it. "Almost makes me feel as though I shouldn't be here, no?"

She managed a weak, sheepish smile in response. "Well, I wouldn't put it that harshly..." She said, her gaze apologetic. "But yeah. This is something I have to do alone. You understand, right?"

"Of course." He gave a polite nod, the smile fading from his face. "If you're certain that you have no more need of me, I shall return home." He took a few steps back, putting one arm behind him and the other in front of him before giving a deeper bow. "I bid you farewell, Ruby Rose." With that, he turned himself around and began to walk away.

"Wait!"

Before he could go too far, he felt Ruby's presence on him. Once again, the girl wrapped her arms around him and gave him an affectionate but gentle squeeze. Her face was tinted a light pink as she performed the action. "I know I've said it already and you said it's not a big deal." She said, her voice quiet but showing a great deal of gratitude. "But thanks again for helping me out. That, and... take care of yourself out there, okay?"

On the last statement, the gratitude faded away into clear concern – something which surprised Elisha. After all, they had only known each other for a few hours. Was she really putting hope in him returning home? Regardless of this, he was ready to reply. "I've been taking care of myself for most of my life." He answered. But thanks. I'll keep those words in mind."

Once she parted away from him, he continued his trek back into the forest. He heard her boots moving through the snow as she walked away from him, with the sound growing more and more faint as he walked. It wasn't long before the sound faded away completely and the last of her presence was lost from his own. Once again, he was by himself with only his sword to keep him company. It wasn't anything new or frightening to him, as it was something that served as a side effect of his regular "exercises". But in all of those times, he had nothing to think too deeply about. The only thing that he had ever been concerned about back then was the number and type of Grimm he was going to face every time he stepped foot in these neck of the wounds.

But this little adventure brought at least one thing to think about – his recent "client".

"In all my time performing odd jobs," He muttered to himself, his arms folded across his chest and his eyes furrowing in contemplation. "Never have I seen those kinds of eyes before. Just like mine, and yet so innocent, so bright and so naïve. I can't help but wonder. Is there something beyond the blade that can give me light? Is there something beyond bloodshed that's capable of making me feel... alive? If there is, then how do I go about finding it? Where would I even begin?" He shook his head, giving a heavy sigh. "Oh, Ruby Rose. You came with a simple request but left me with so many questions. You little troublemaker..."

A sharp bark snapped him out of his thoughts. His head jerked in the direction of the sound, where he saw the form of the arctic fox sitting by a tree. It was looking at him with its head tilted to the side, almost as if it was asking a question. The sight made him laugh a little, jerking his arms out to his sides in a humored manner. "Oh, well. I suppose I can find the answers to my questions when I'm in the comfort of my home again." Looking at the fox, he gave a gesturing nod to the path laid in front of him. "C'mon, Minty. I'm ready to go."

With that being said, he folded his arms behind his back and continued the walk to his home with Minty on his heels.

* * *

**A/N: Had a much more different plot for this than what's here. But a friend and fellow fanfiction writer on this site by the name of Demod20 was so eager to see one of my characters meet Ruby Rose, and I just couldn't say no. Additionally, if you're a fan of DBZ or Bleach, you should go and read his stories. I trust you won't be disappointed!**

**Now, onto Elisha. He alludes to the Cheshire Cat, a character known for his mischievous behavior and trademark grin. But he also pays reference to Gautama Buddha, or more specifically the extreme amount of patience and nerve Buddha is known to have (seriously, the guy was said to have meditated for 49 days before finding Enlightenment). He is also an attempt at portraying dissonant serenity - being eerily calm even during the most intense of moments. Originally, that trait was going to be a defining factor in a darker concept of this chapter. But, as stated before, Demod intervened before I could sully your good mood with a dose of dark themes. Go and throw shoes at - I mean congratulate him.**

**And yes, Elisha's weapon was inspired by Jetstream Sam from Metal Gear Rising. FIGHT ME.**

**And that ends this particular chapter. Once again, I thank the readers and reviewers that have stuck by my side and I hope that you will continue to enjoy this story in the time ahead. Until next time!**


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